All The King's Men
by theconsultingtardisbananaangel
Summary: After 8x23, the boys' world is thrown sideways when somehow they amass a small family and are left to clean the shards of Heaven. Sam's close to dying, Cas is broken and weak, and for some reason Kevin, Crowley, and Charlie have all moved in. Dean's stuck in the middle of it all, despite his own problems. Like his rapidly shifting feelings for Cas. Warnings inside.
1. Falling Skies

**WARNINGS: PLEASE READ. I'm going to list any and all things that I think might need a warning. There is drinking. There is graphic sex. There are drugs. There is death. There are lots of references to deaths in the canon and previously in the story. A character struggles with suicidal issues and succumbs to those issues. There is swearing. There is domestic abuse. There is underage drinking and mentions of underage sex. There is a gay couple (duh) and a lesbian (duh) as well as heterosexual relationships mentioned. There are nasty names aimed at gay people. There are graphic descriptions of torture. There are allusions to mental disorders such as P. S. T. D. ****and ****depression. A character refuses to eat. Generally, this story is dark; please tread with caution.**

**More warnings may be added on as I continue to write; but for now, that's it.**

**Most of all, enjoy.**

**Original author's note below.**

* * *

**Aaand here it is, the obligatory post-Sacrifice fic. Oh my god, you guys, that was crazy zrazy zrazy. AASKNJFPIDSnFAPOIENFAEFAEFNEOAEKGANOKGRN CAS MY POOR BABY**

**But we can assume that a human Cas is a great opportunity for Dean and Cas to bond~**

**And in a not-as-profound way, if you catch my drift.**

* * *

Cas woke up cold.

Cold.

Angels don't get cold, he thought. He struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. Metatron lied. Naomi was neutralized. It was too quiet. He couldn't hear any of the angels, and it scared him.

He got up off of the cold, wet ground and dusted himself off. He thought of the church where Sam had been curing Crowley, but he wasn't whisked away there as he would normally be within a moment's thought.

It was then he realized his wings were gone, and everything Metatron had said came back to him.

He was human. Fragile, breakable, mortal, human.

And it scared the daylights out of Castiel.

* * *

Cas wandered, unused to the sensation of a weary body. He walked along the roadside, but everyone was panicking about the falling lights, worried about aliens and the like. Cas wondered what they would do if they found out what it really was.

It was truly a spectacle, the golden fire plummeting towards Earth all at once. Castiel's chest was tight, and he fought for breath. At one point, he had to sit down on the pavement, in hysterics.

Everything he fought for was in turmoil.

The world ended not with a bang, but with a whimper.

* * *

As the sun rose, he reached a gas station and all but collapsed next to the pay phone. Jimmy Novak kept a wallet, and soon he was dialing Dean's cell phone.

"Hey, this is Dean. I'm probably out gettin' my hide skinned, so, uh, leave a message and if I'm still alive I'll get back to you."

"Hello, Dean."


	2. Imprint

**Whoah, the response generated from this already is incredible. You guys are awesome! Also, for a tiny little miniature dose of Dean/Cas feels, check out this gif. Dean ****_feels Castiel's beard. _**

** 24. media . tumblr tumblr _mbpt1vElqI1r4x844o1_500 . gif**

* * *

"Wake up, man," Dean said roughly. Sam was still sleeping, although they'd arrived at the hotel sixteen hours previously. Sam had crashed immediately, but Dean couldn't sleep.

Hell was open. Still. All that work, all of Sammy's misery, for nothing. Dean was angry at first, but it gave way to a quiet resignation. Crowley was mostly changed, and they had fought demons since they were big enough to fit in adult sized clothing. _Nothing he couldn't handle,_ he thought. _I would _not _be able to handle living out a nice life without Sam, not again._

But the angels were on Earth. They had literally fallen, and Cas wasn't answering. He was worried about the angel, if he still was one, if he had survived, if he was under Naomi's control again. If the other fallen, now-human angels would track him down and take revenge for their murdered brothers and sisters.

Any of those things could be possible.

Sam rolled over and slept on, recovering from the damage he had taken during the trials. Dean just looked out the window.

* * *

It was mid-morning when Dean pulled himself together enough to plug in his and Sam's call phones. His made a little trilling noise. Voice mail. He flipped it open and pressed play.

"Hello, Dean." There was a pause. "The voice told me to leave a message, so I'm leaving a message. I'm using a pay phone. I hope you are not getting your hide skinned." Another pause.

"I'm human, Dean, and I won't be of much use to you anymore. Goodbye, Dean, and Godspeed."

There was a click and the line went dead. Dean's anger surged forth once again. Cas was broken, fallen; and he could be anywhere. He played the message through again, listening to the last sentence again and again.

_Goodbye, Dean._

_Goodbye, Dean, and Godspeed._

Cas, the stupid son-of-a-bitch, thought that Dean was going to drop him as soon as he shed his feathers. Didn't he realize what he meant to the brothers?

Didn't he know what he meant to Dean?

* * *

"Wha time 's it?" Sam slurred. Dean was staring out the window into the motel parking lot, where a heavy rain fell, washing over the Impala and reflecting Dean's grey, cold mood.

"Time to go." Dean grabbed his phone and charger from the outlet and took his bag, which he'd never unpacked, out to the car. Sam grunted and started getting ready.

Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala, letting the rain wash over him.

_I have to find Cas. He needs our help, and we need his, even if he's a human. I would never just give up on him, no matter what species he is. He's a friend, and a friend stays._

Dean pushed away the thought that he wouldn't be so saddened if Cas was just a friend. He focused on the water rushing down his face. He wondered absently if he'd ever been properly baptized.

"Dude, you're soaking wet," Sam commented as he joined Dean outside. Dean couldn't bring himself to respond.

"Mmm."

"You okay, man?"

"Mmm."

"Hey, where's Cas?" Sam asked, legitimately innocent.

"Let's hit the road," Dean said, dodging the question. Sam frowned, but he got in the car.

* * *

Twenty miles towards the Men of Letters compound and Dean realized he was crying.

"Dean, did Cas..."

"He's gone," Dean replied bluntly. Sam's face twisted into a painted mask of pity and regret, and Dean bristled under the glare.

"Are you... You know, okay?" Sam asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." Dean didn't turn on the music, but he stared out at the rain, and the words _wallowing in sadness_ sprang instantly to Sam's mind.

* * *

Dean continued to wallow for three days, lying in his bedroom for most of the day and wandering the compound at night. Sam was recovering, slowly, but he definitely felt on the mend.

But as for Dean, the elder Winchester was feeling worse and worse. Sam practically tiptoed around his brother. He had never seen Dean this way before, tense and quiet and nocturnal. It seemed like every time he turned around, there were more empty bottles of beer, scotch, whiskey, vodka... whatever alcoholic beverages Dean could get his hands on. But every time he saw Dean, he didn't look drunk, just profoundly miserable. Sam realized that he was the only one taking food from the fridge, and he left plates of food for Dean. They went untouched.

Finally, after four days of wading through his unhappy stupor, Dean joined Sam outside, where the younger brother was enjoying being able to enjoy being outside.

"Nice day," Sam commented warily.

_Are you okay?_

_Is this about Cas?_

_What's next for us?_

"Too bright," Dean grunted. He handed his brother a beer and opened one for himself.

"You've been drinking a lot lately," Sam pointed out, keeping his tone neutral.

"Yeah, well, it ain't doin' much," Dean responded. They sat in silence for a while, Dean looking at the trees and Sam looking at Dean.

"Dean-" Sam stated finally, about to launch into one of his long tirades about liver failure and who-knows-what-else.

"You remember back before the apocalypse? When Zachariah was on my ass about gettin' consent for Michael to wear me to the prom?" Dean cut him off, taking Sam by surprise.

"How could I forget?" Sam asked, not sarcastically.

"Well, remember when we went our own separate ways for a while?"

"Yeah. You said we should both just 'pick a hemisphere', if I remember correctly."

"Heh. That's kind of funny," Dean replied. "But before I gave you Ruby's knife back, you asked what made me change my mind, and I said it was a long story." Dean took a long drink of his beer.

"Dean, why are you bringing this up now?" Sam narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at his brother. "That was like, four years ago. Two thousand nine, right?"

"It's almost two thousand-fourteen," Dean mused. "Well, at that point, I was hell-bent on keeping Michael out of my skin, and Zachariah sent me five years into the future. Two thousand and fourteen."

"So you'll be out there walking around sometime soon? I don't understand what you are trying to tell me," Sam said, mystified.

"No. At least, I better not be. Zachariah sent me to the future where you let Lucy Dear ride you before Michael found a vessel." Dean closed his eyes, regretting that he had to bring this up now.

"Okay...?"

"The demons, led by you, or Lucifer-you, released the Croatoan virus onto the world."

"Croatoan. Haven't thought of that in ages," Sam said. "What a mess."

"Everyone came down with it. It was the bona fide zombie apocalypse. Night of the Living Dead, except they ran, not stumbled, and Lucifer sat on the throne."

"Yikes."

"Well, I found my way to the compound where future-me was livin' with some civilian survivors, plus Chuck and Cas. I was the head honcho of the whole thing, pick' off Croats-"

"Croats?"

"Croatoans. It's what we called the bastards."

"Oh."

"I got into quite a few arguments with myself, and I was a dick. But Cas, Cas was..." Dean trailed off, shuddering at the memory. "Cas fell. He was cut off from Heaven, his grace gone. It was the scariest part of twenty fourteen, scarier than Lucy-slash-you, night of the living Croats, and even your white tux."

"I had a white tux?" Sam looked utterly horrified.

"Yes. Yes, you did," Dean said, shivering. "But Cas, he lost his grace, and he just couldn't cope. Amphetamines, marijuana, you name it, he was on it."

"Cas? _Castiel_? The angel? Same guy who didn't even realize he had a boner?"

"The angel. Who was perpetually stoned and fond of orgies."

"You're kidding."

"He had this look about him, this dark, steely look that scared the shit out of me. Like he couldn't bear living as a human. Losing his grace was untreatable. He was killing himself, and if You-cifer hadn't gotten to him first, the guy probably would have died of an overdose within a few months. Future Cas was so, so scary. The zombie apocalypse, that's stuff I can deal with, but..."

"How'd you get back?"

"At the motel, I got a voice mail from Cas." Dean ignored Sam's question, wanting to move on from the 2014 world.

"Why didn't you tell me? About the Croats- or, or me getting the date-rape from Lucifer? Or about Cas's phone call?"

"Didn't feel like it at the time."

"Dude, that's... Are you all right?"

"Cas is alive. He is A. W. O. L. And he is human."

Dean fought back a desperate sob. He was wracked with guilt, guilt that he had somehow led Cas to the belief that he would no longer be needed as a human, guilt that he had slept through his angel's call, guilt that he had let Sam go so far, go through all of that pain before stopping to look. Guilt that Metatron had won.

Sam watched his brother become lost in his own head, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do for Dean right now.

"If I had only..." Dean was crying quietly now.

"Dean. This was not your fault," Sam said quietly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, and Sam looked at him, hurt but resigned.

Slowly, Dean pulled back his sleeve and motioned to his shoulder.

"Did I ever show you my scar?"

"Scar? Which one?"

"The hand print."

"What?"

"When Cas lifted me from Hell, he left a hand print. I can still feel it." Dean drew a shuddery breath. "He is my best friend and I failed him."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to find him. No matter what."

* * *

**Holy (absent) God in Heaven, I cannot get over that episode. **

**So I am going to continue this, and add Destiel.**


	3. Drunk and Disorderly

**Short chapter, I know, but the reunion scene is coming soon!**

* * *

"I'll haf another pleese," Cas slurred. He had forgotten how easily it was to become inebriated in his new, weird form. The bartender raised an eyebrow. And the bartender had seen_ a lot_ of people get drunk...

"Rough day, was it?" A slim, well-dressed young man sat down in the seat next to Cas. He wore his clothes in a manner that reminded Cas of Balthazar. He hadn't thought of that particular brother for a long, long, while...

Another angel he had condemned to death; guilty by association.

"Rough millennium," Cas commented honestly but the other guy just chuckled softly.

"Well, only nine hundred and eighty seven more years until it's over. I'm Greg."

"If only I could make it that long," Cas lamented bitterly. "I'll be in Hell before I live to see that day."

"I know the feeling, man," the Balthazar imitation agreed.

No, thought Cas, you really don't.

* * *

In a deadened police station, a middle-aged cop was doing paperwork when he got a call from the dispatcher.

"Hey, Morrison, we got a call 'bout a drunk and disorderly a few minutes ago. Down at Harry's Pub. You're closest."

"I got papers, man."

"Delegate 'em to some junior officer."

"Great idea."

Morrison yawned and stretched. Drunk and disorderly was loads easier than paperwork.

The drive to the bar took less than twenty minutes. He'd taken in loads of D and Ds here, countless individuals so inebriated that they had lost all judgment. But in all of his years on the local police force, he'd never had to arrest a foreigner for anything. What a paperwork snarl. The man who had been called in to the police about was a ruddy little man with an accent probably from England or Scotland.

"Sir, you're under arrest for-"

"YOU DARE TO ARREST THE KING OF HELL? WHAT GIVES YOU THE AUTHORITY?" Mr. British bellowed loudly, causing the surrounding people to cringe.

"Um, unless you have jurisdiction here, I'm the boss."

* * *

"Morrison?"

"What's up?"

"Got another D and D for ya."

"Aw, another? They couldn't just gotten it over with twenty minutes ago?"

Crowley came to slowly, with a throbbing headache. Ah, the joys of being close to human. He struggled to remember the events of the past few hours. He vaguely was aware of the voices talking, no, _shouting like banshees _at each other

Guilt.

Pain.

Angels in the sky with diamonds.

Guilt.

The local bar.

Drinking half of the local bar.

Getting arrested.

Every single thing about this night was fan-fucking-tastic. And who in Lucifer's sweet name could he contact for his one phone call?

* * *

Cas was far too inebriated to protest getting dragged away. Greg had made a pass at him, and the fallen angel had slugged him in the face.

"Could have just told me you don't bat for the other team, man," the guy had said.

"I do not understand that reference," Cas had replied curtly.

And he had proceeded to beat the crap out of the poor guy until there were sirens, taking out all of his anger and frustration on some hapless young man who happened to find him attractive.

He was so out of it, he didn't bother to feel or observe anything as he was arrested and read his Miranda rights. He was aware of a throbbing in his temple, and he could taste his own blood in his mouth. Then, he was in a car with funny-looking windows and it was nothing at all like being in the backseat of the Impala. It was alienating and odd to be dragged around like he had been while in the garrison, but by humans and not God or the archangels.

Cas was close to passing out by the time the squad car reached the station. He was faintly aware of being dragged some more and thrown into a little room with a couple of filthy mattresses and some guy who desperately needed a shave.

"Castiel?" The man who needed a shave was speaking. Cas grunted. He tried to remember whether it was weird by human standards to have some random guy know your name.

"How you know my name?" Cas slurred, lying down on one of the mattresses.

"Castiel, it's me, Crowley."

_Crowley. Bad. That name is bad. No Crowley, no, not here. Wait, why is Crowley bad? Is it bad that he's here? Where's Dean?_


	4. One Phone Call Each

**I split up this chapter. Reunion is next one, I promise! Meanwhile, enter a depressed, self-loathing Crowley.**

* * *

_Being human is absolutely revolting_, Cas thought as he vomited into the small metal toilet. _I never had to be sick before._

"Somebody has gotten alcohol poisoning," Crowley muttered behind him. "Want me to hold back your hair?"

"I do not understand," Cas mumbled drily during a breif pause in his retching.

"Just hold tight, sugar muffin, it will be over soon," Crowley drawled.

"Why are you using terms of endearment with me?" Cas slurred.

"Because we're humans now," Crowley said. "We're on the same boat, you and I, but you got more getting-used-to than I do and I have a metric shit ton of guilt."

"I have my fair share of that as well." Cas attempted to stand up, but swayed. He began to fall, but Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down on the bed.

"I killed thousands."

"Me too."

"I wrecked Hell."

"It's Hell, it's supposed to be wrecked. I wrecked Heaven."

"Ah, yes, that does seem a little... oxymoronic."

"'M not a moron," Cas slurred.

* * *

"Hello, this is Dean," said the elder Winchester brother, answering his cell phone.

"Dean, darling, how lovely to speak to you. Is your refrigerator running? Just thought I should ask," said the familiar voice. Dean swore and hung up.

"Who was that?" Sam rasped.

"Just the king of Hell. Same old, same old."

The phone rang again.

"Dean, before you hang up- I have Castiel."

Dean let a string of curses rush forth.

"Crowley, if you even touch him, I _swear_ I will kill you a thousand times over." Sam raised an eyebrow. Cas, Dean mouthed.

"Calm down, honey bunches. I'm not going to hurt him. We- he- I need your help."

"Help," Dean repeated incredulously.

"Yes, sugar. We got ourselves in a bit of a pinch."

"What do you mean 'we'? Is Cas really there? Can I talk to him?"

"Lover-boy, he's passd out on the floor right now."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Dean thundered.

"Nothing. Jesus, over-protective much? Lover-boy?"

"Don't- do not _ever_ call me lover-boy again." Sam snickered. Dean threw his younger brother the death glare.

"We both got charged on a drunk and disorderly and we're in jail."

"Is Cas okay, Crowley?"

"Perfect as peaches. He was talking about you."

"Really? What did he say?" Dean felt an odd glimmer of hope at this, but ignored it stubbornly.

"I am certain that he will want to tell you himself."

"Where are you guys?"

"Same town where you locked me up. County jail therein."

"We're on our way."

Dean slammed the phone shut and grabbed his jacket.

"Uh, Dean? Where exactly are we on our way to?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Get your coat, Sammy. We got a lead on Cas."


	5. Recovery Position

**Author's Note: Wow, my lovely paraplegic platypuses, I feel terrible. I keep promising a long chapter but every time I sit down to write it just breaks into little bite-sized chunks and I feel compelled to post them as such. **

**Also, I have been on the brink of a panic attack for weeks now, and I can feel myself just teetering on the edge of anxiety. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY, I JUST AM UGH.**

**Enough with my first world problems; THE SHOW MUST GO ON!**

**Not a literal show, but a metaphorical one, you understand.**

**Oh, uh, right, enjoy and please don't kill me for such a super short update~**

* * *

Sam had fallen asleep with his head against the window as they drove back to the town where shit, or rather, angels, had gone down. Dean had driven like a cop car was after him and he fad a thousand kilos of drugs in his trunk. Sam had tried to stay awake, tried to find out what was going on as best he could, but there was absolutely no stopping Dean when he was on a rampage.

"Dean," he had said, "I know this whole thing has been hard on you, but I think you have to consider-"

"Consider what, Sammy? That my- my- my- my best friend in- in the fucking universe is- is perhaps lying mojo-less in a ditch somewhere and that Crowley is- is lyin'? It's the only lead I got and I- I sure as Hell won't consider even-"

"Dean, you've never, ever acted like this, for any of our friends."

"Most of our friends can cope with being human for fuck's sake!" Dean had roared.

Now, Sam was slumbering, albeit restlessly, and Dean pulled the Impala into a parking space outside the county jail. He considered waking his brother up, but he was still recovering; and somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a voice said that he didn't want Sam to intrude on his reunion with Cas. It was chilly for the season, and the faintest lavender and rose-colored hints of sun danced at the edge of the trees. It was a beautiful morning, dew on the grass and birds singing in the trees.

Dean wanted to shoot the damn things.

He was tired. His head throbbed in a deep, achy sort of way and he felt too tired to think. As he arrived at the door, he steeled himself.

_This is for Cas, Dean._

_He might be in there and he needs our help._

* * *

"Hi, uh, Officer- Morrison," Dean said as charmingly as possible after an all-nighter, reading the name from the badge on Officer Morrison's chest.

"Are you being tailed by a murderer? 'Cause I'm almost off-duty and I don't feel like-"

"I'm here to bail someone out."

"Ah. Give me a mo'." The cop pushed aside a Dunkin' Donuts box- _how stereotypical_, thought Dean- and handed the frazzled hunter a stack of papers. "All right, I'm going to need you to sign here-" Dean signed. "An' here-" Dean scribbled illegibly, remembering that he was dead in the eyes of the authorities. "And on all these lovely little dotted lines." He took a bite of his doughnut, powdered sugar catching in the corners of his mouth, and Dean felt sick.

After he had paid up- not as much as he had expected, but still quite a hefty sum- Officer Morrison led him back through the bowels of the jail, twisty passages that made him feel dizzy and ill but in retrospect must have been nothing but normal corridors. The walls were grey and unfeeling, and Dean fought the unreasonable urge to punch the damn things in their fucking faces. Anxiety was tearing him apart.

_Why was Crowley with Cas?_

_Why couldn't Cas just speak to him?_

_Would Cas try and leave again, like he had said in the phone call?_

Finally, Officer Morrison stopped short and Dean almost ran into him. The bulky man turned and suddenly Dean realized they were in front of a holding cell. Crowley sat on the bed, staring into the first rays of dawn which filtered in through the tiny barred window. And there, lying on the floor, in recovery position, was Castiel.


	6. I'll Buy You A Pony

**Author's Note: I am absolutely ****_fuming _****right now. I have a Windows Operating System laptop, which means when it decides to update, I get absolutely no choice in the matter. At all. None. So, I, being the stupid, idiotic imbecile which I totally am, had all of my upcoming story chapters for every story currently in progress on one document. One document. ****_ONE FUCKING DOCUMENT. _****Which I saved plenty of times, every time I finished a damn paragraph. So, that's all well and good, until my computer shuts down and **

* * *

**Every**

* * *

**Damn**

* * *

**Thing**

* * *

**Got **

* * *

**Deleted**

* * *

**OF ALL OF MY DOCUMENTS THAT ONE GOT DELETED AINEOGK SLOEG OEG OE G**

**AND I HAD 2,409 WORDS ON THIS CHAPTER**

**okay end rant. But that's why it's so short, as I am attempting to replicate it best I can, piece by agonizing piece.**

* * *

"Cas?" Dean breathed.

No answer.

Dean pressed a hand to the bars of the cell, grasping the cold metal, desperately searching for signs that Cas was still alive and well. Crowley watched him, head tilted, eyes narrowed, as if calculating what to do next.

"Crowley- if- if you did something to Cas- I swear, I will skin you alive-"

"Dean. Please calm down, he's fine," Crowley begged. His eyes flashed to Officer Morrison, who was watching them warily.

I will deal with you later, Dean mouthed at Crowley. Officer Morrison backed up and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hate to intrude on a touching reunion, but I gotta open this and you are in my way," he said, powdered sugar wagging up and down. Ugh, thought Dean.

"Oh. Um, right. I'll just, uh," he stammered, backing up.

Officer Morrison fumbled with the keys. Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as Cas let out a weird mewing noise. Crowley chuckled.

Finally, the cell door swung open and Dean almost tripped over himself in his rushed effort to get to Cas.

"Cas?" Dean crouched down next to the humanized angel; subconsciously reaching out a hand to touch his beard. Cas looked like he hadn't shaved in...

Well, whenever the hell it was he last shaved.

_After Purgatory._

Several lifetimes ago.

"He's fine, Dean," Crowley assured. "I grew up in Scotland for Christ's sake; I know about inebriation more than almost anyone."

"Shut your face, Crowley," Dean said gruffly. Turning back to the slumbering Cas, he added, "Cas, man, I need you to wake up now."

"Dah-ling, he is not waking up gently-"

"Cas, sweetheart-"_ did I just call him sweetheart? _

_Dean, shut up. It's a term of endearment used when some person you love is sick- _

_I do not love him- _

_Yes, you do, he is your freakin' brother-_

"Winchester. Snap out of it."

"My shift ends in tee minus twenty seconds, so, uh, If you could-" Officer Morrison, complete with revolting doughnut-face, interrupted.

"Cas, if you- if you wake up right now, I will buy you a pony. Every pretty little girl wants a pony, Cas. Hell, I will buy you a fucking dude ranch, man." Dean's mind was in the state of exhaustion-induced delirium. "A dude ranch. And, cause, we are, like, dudes, and we can totally name your first pony Dude if you want to, or we could name it something like-"

"Jesus Christ, Winchester, pull your damn self together!" Crowley stood up, swaying a little bit, and staggered over to where Dean had pulled Cas into his arms.

"Don't you dare touch him, Crowley, or I swear I will-"

"Yeah, yeah, skin me alive and what-not. It kind of dulls the effect of the threat to repeat it so often."

Crowley moved forward and abruptly slapped Cas in the face.

"Wake up, Halo-Boy! Up and at 'em!"

"'M up," Cas mumbled, his eyes shooting awake. "'M up. Lee me lone."

"Cas," Dean grinned uncharacteristically. He felt slightly, well, tipsy.

"Mhe head huuhrt Stean," Cas slurred.

"That is- that is called a hangover, buddy."

After Dean helped pull the power-stripped angel to his feet, they followed Officer Morrison down the labyrinth-like corridors, Dean half-dragging, half-supporting Cas along. As Crowley held the door open for the two young (or improbably old) men, he winked at Officer Morrison.

"_They're loh-vehrs_," he whispered, pointing between the two boys.

_Gross_, thought Officer Morrison to himself. _Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve._

* * *

**Again, I am so, so, so, ****_so, so, _****sorry for the shortness of these few chapters. I send you basket-fulls of cookies to make up for it.**

**And thanks, everyone, for your wonderful reviews!**


	7. Guiding Warmth

**Oh, yes, I am a terrible person. You saw this update in your e-mail and said, "About fucking time!" **

**But I only wrote a couple of paragraphs bua ha ha ha ha **

**Steel yourelves for some fluffy, fluffy Destiel coming very, very soon...**

Cas did not really know what was going on around him. He felt sick, as if there were a thousand Leviathans trying to tickle his stomach, but, being Leviathans, they were not doing so gently. Then, Dean's face came into view above him, and he was being forced to stand up but it was impossible and then someone was helping him and they were warm, so very warm, and he could not bring himself to walk, he just let himself be dragged along by the warm thing, and he wanted to just curl up next to it forever and make his unbearable headache go away.

Then, they were out of the twisty-turny-ness of the hallway and it was too bright out. His eyes stung like they had had lemon juice and salt water poured on them. At one point, someone said something and he said something back and the warm thing deposited him in a car, a familiar car, a car that felt like home; and the warmth was gone. He wanted to cry out and bring it back but then he passed out again and didn't remember the difference.


	8. Brothers

**Time for some older-brother Sammy and a Wee-chester flash back. Everyone gets a hug for putting up with my nonsense. Hugs for all. Yes. There we go.**

* * *

"Dean, you went in there without me?" Sam seethed. He had woken up a few minutes after Dean had entered the police station, and he was pissed off. "Who knows what might have happened if Crowley had lied? You just left me alone here-"

"Sam, shut up and help me get Cas in the back seat," Dean ordered gruffly.

Sam abruptly stopped his rant when he took in the state of the former angel. Cas looked like a cancer patient, gaunt and weak and tired, or, at the very least, like someone locked in a basement for six or eight months.

Dean had not been joking when he had expressed his worry about the Future Castiel's vices; and Sam was scared for him. Scared for Dean, too, because if Cas fell apart after he had just fallen from Heaven, he would take Dean crashing down along with him.

But Sam didn't rush to help Cas, he was still a bit shocked at the harsh appearance of the fallen man.

Crowley helped him instead.

Crowley.

Sam stood numbly by, watching absently as his older brother along with their sworn arch-enemy settled Cas into the seat. Dean covered Cas with a blanket Sam had not been aware that they'd had with them; lurking in the trunk with the sawed-off shotguns and extra ammo. Just tools of the trade.

He recognized the blanket. It was one Dean had taken from a motel room in Pasadena, California, when Sam was ten and Dean almost fifteen. Sam had some sort of sickness, what it was he had long forgotten, but John had taken no notice, dragging the boys from their beds at three in the morning to rush off to Cincinnati, Ohio, three or four days by car. Dean had wrapped his ailing brother in the blanket, as he had just grown out of his latest jacket and was too little to fit into one of Dean's. Sam had spent the next week or two in a stupor, his little body wanting medicine it would never receive. After that, the blanket had stayed hidden in the Impala, coming out only when needed, and eventually retired to the trunk when the boys could steal their own jackets without John noticing. It had always been there, hiding beneath the arsenal, but it had never been wrapped around a non-Winchester.

_But that was the point, wasn't it?_ Sam thought to himself. _Cas is your bona fide _brother_ now._

He didn't know if Dean recognized the accidental significance of the moment, but Sam had, and it was bittersweet.

Dean cared a lot about Cas. Sam would never have thought enough to wrap him up, or bail him out at God-knows-when A. M., or...

...curl up beside him and fall asleep with his head in their comrade's lap.

Sam fished the keys out of his brother's jacket, careful not to disturb him as he began to snore, and wordlessly ordered Crowley into the front seat. There were safe places in the bunker where the old King couldn't cause any trouble. He had his brothers, safe-ish; Hell wasn't closed but Boss Man was gone and the angels couldn't bother him for a while.

Time to go home.

* * *

**Ye gods of many planes, I am terrible. Truly, truly terrible. But, to take your mind of All The King's Men induced pain, go read something fluffy. Or something even more depressing. Just get yourself worked up for some Des-tie-el~!**

**That last word was totally meant to be read in sing-song, by the way.**

***Cackles evilly and runs naked into the forest***


	9. Koala Bear

**Thanks everyone for your kind reviews! And this fic is almost at a hundred followers like ****_whut_**** that means almost 100 people independently decided that my writing was okay enough to follow and a hundred people is a lot of people okay that is fifty times the size of my grade at school**

**So, thank you everyone, and I love your reviews! Except for one ass-butt who decided to thoroughly criticize each and every chapter anonymously... but I got that all cleared up. Find better things to do with your time, ass-butt! Try being nice, it is not that hard.**

**So, this chapter is normal chapter-y length so you can call off the assassins, please?**

**(Plus if you kill me there will never be another update bua ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha)**

**Also, Cockney slash British accents must be obnoxiously spelled out, of course.**

**And the word 'hydroplaning' describes when, in driving a car, the level of water on the road is thick enough that a car can begin to float across, therefore rendering steering and/or brakes useless. It's scary, I've done it. **

* * *

After about an hour of uneventful driving, Crowley broke the silence.

"Your broh-ther, he cares a laht about that ayhn-gehl lahd," he said tentatively, accent bleeding through quite heavily due to his apparent anxiety.

"What?" Sam blinked. It was raining, and the driving was almost hypnotic in its calmness. The Impala was warm enough for Cas to be comfortable even after he had thrashed out of his blanket, and the endless road lulled Sam into a transient state, so calm he almost forgot about the fact that his enemy was riding shotgun, listening to an iPod.

"Cah-s. He and your broh-ther," Crowley said.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're... close," Sam mused. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he took in the sight of the two people in the backseat. Dean had shifted around to face the cushion, head resting against Castiel's right leg. Cas had swung his legs around underneath him, and the fingers of one of his hands were tangled in Dean's sandy blond hair.

"Careful, love, you're hydroplaning."

"Oh. Uh, right," Sam responded, snapping out of his observations to return his concentration to the road. Crowley pulled his headphones out in disgust.

"I found this damn thing on the side of the road and apparently it belonged to the mutant offspring of Hannah Montana and a sea cucumber. Honestly, this music is God-awful," he muttered. Sam chuckled.

"A sea cucumber, Crowley? Really?" Sam shook his head. "Oh, right. You're hungover too. I forgot."

"Hey. Even a lemon-lime gummy bear could choose better music than this," Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

"What- what kind of music_ would_ a lemon-lime gummy bear pick?" Sam laughed, trying to imagine the situation. Hell, in their line of work, he thought, a gummy bear might just have to deal with that difficult scenario.

"I dunno. 'I Want Candy?" Crowley shook his head.

"'Candy Man'?" Sam added, giggling. Everything was just so bizarre. Dean was cuddling with a man, and he and Crowley were joking around about lemon-lime gummy bears and their taste in music. "'Put The Lime In The Coconut?'"

"'Candy Girl'?" Crowley suggested.

"'Candy Girl'?" Sam questioned. "I don't think I know that one."

"Oh, come on! The Archies?" Crowley raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Na na na na, na na, ooh, honey honey, na na na," he sang awkwardly.

"You are m-y-y-y candy gi-i-i-i-i-i-rl!" Sam suddenly remembered. He had liked this song.

"AND YOU'VE GOT ME WANTIN' YOUUUUU!" Crowley joined in and they belted out randomly and the bizarre-ness just felt so good that they kept going until the song ended twice and the Impala needed a gas break.

* * *

"Should we let 'em sleep it off?"

"I guess. They look comfortable."

"Okay."

"Crowley, just a warning, you try to kill us or anything then I will kill you first. Now, can you cook? I'm awful at it, but I'm hungry." Sam thought of something. "A-ha! You can repay us by making us breakfast and stuff. Chef Crowley. Your indentured servitude begins...now."

"I make a wonderful haggis, or at least I did in Scotland."

"Haggis... what's haggis again?"

"Oh, a delicious traditional Scottish meat dish made with all sorts of wonderful delicious-ness."

"Sounds, uh, okay, I guess."

"Awesome. Now, have you got any sheep's brains?"

"Sheep's brains- what?"

* * *

Dean ached.

His neck, his back, his limbs... At least one of his arms and one of his legs were asleep, and his neck, his neck was death. No, death would have felt nicer than this ache.

_I am getting old_, Dean realized. _I have _got_ to start falling asleep in a real bed_.

_Speaking of beds, where am I?_

_Impala?_

_What is that pillow?_

_Is that Cas?_

It was Cas.

_Holy Hell, that's Cas._

Dean sat up, ignoring his aching neck, and foggily tried to remember what had happened. The sun was high above the trees now, outside the Bat-Cave...

The Bat-Cave.

Bed.

"Dean?" The lump of blanket-covered Cas mumbled gruffly.

"Cas."

"My arms are tangled in this cloth."

"Oh." Dean couldn't help but laugh at this admission.

"Can I have some help? Or some painkillers? Or perhaps both?"

Dean inhaled sharply. No way in Hell was Cas getting his hands on painkillers. Not when he was human, and it was so near to twenty fourteen...

"Let's get you to a real bed, and we will see how you feel in the morning," he dodged. Dean yawned and stretched, getting out of the Impala and staggering over to the other side of the car. He opened the door and Cas almost tumbled out onto the leaf-covered earth.

"Ungh," Cas mumbled. "The lack of balance which I find myself coping with recently is... disconcerting." Dean had to to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the gross understatement. Cas was dangling out of the Impala and speaking nonchalantly about the state he was in and it was hilarious.

"Eh he he he. Um, well, we wouldn't want anything disconcerting." Dean, with an almighty effort, managed to maneuver Cas around until he was sitting with his feet on the ground.

"I apologize for my lack of control over my body-"

"Cas, man, you just went through what would be like, for me, losing all of my limbs and most of my internal organs."

"But I still have my organs, internal and external. I do not understand-"

"Cas. Stop talking," Dean ordered.

"Okay."

Dean gently roped an arm around his friend's torso and another under his shoulders. He had never noticed how damn _thin_ they were...

"I'm going to pick you up now," he warned.

"Okay."

Dean grasped on to the fallen man in what would be, under different circumstances, a bear hug. With a grunt, he pulled Cas out of the car...

...and then he lost his balance and sent them both tumbling to the ground, Dean breaking the other man's fall. Cas was a dead weight against his chest, but he was warm, and he just looked really adorable. His forehead was resting gently on Dean's-

_Adorable?_

Cas looked carefully at Dean, his red-rimed eyes searching for something in the hunter's guarded features. They inhaled and exhaled each other for a minute or two until Dean's chest felt like it was caving in.

"Um, Cas?" Dean managed.

"Dean."

"I kind of need to stand up."

"Oh." With a rather deep grunt of effort, Cas rolled off of the tired hunter. Dean fingered the blanket for a moment, wanting to stay lying down, before nudging himself to his feet.

"Are you okay to stand?" Cas looked wan and sickly on the ground, swaddled in his blanket, all papery skin and tired eyes.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Dean propped Cas up and motioned to his back.

"I'm going to give yo a piggy-back ride, okay? Do you know what that is?"

"No," Cas mumbled, looking faintly confused at why Dean was bringing up swine.

"You're going to cling to my back like a baby koala bear," he summed up, silently cursing the fact that he had made it sound so damn_ cutesy_.

"Koalas are marsupials. In the stages where they would actually be considered babies, they would be contained in a pouch in their mother's abdomen."

"Okay. Sure, Cas. What I'm saying, man, is that I'm a tree and you're a monkey and you have to cling to me."

"I think I now understand the concept."

It turned out 'understanding the concept' and being physically able to carry out said concept were two wholly different things. Dean needed the patience of one thousand nesting penguins to coax the fallen angel onto his back. Finally, one bloodied lip and an elbowed eye later, Cas was draped over Dean's back. He was surprisingly light. In the way that the Empire State Building might be a tad lighter than the soul-crushing weight one might expect.

"When's the last time you actually ate, man?" Dean wondered aloud.

"I had some peanuts when I got that beer with you at the bar where we found the Cupid."

"That was ages ago, man," Dean exclaimed. "No wonder you're so freakin' weak!"

"I am weak because I am like a human reduced to an amoeba-like state."

"Right. Well, us amoebas got to eat sometime."

Dean shifted his arms so that they were wrapped around his friend's thighs. Cas had his arms wrapped around his chest, loose enough only to allow Dean to breathe. He started to make his way towards the door, and the feeling of dragging a concrete slab through maple syrup lessened a bit as he began moving. Cas nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean's neck, enjoying the warmth against his tired eyes. Dean resisted the overwhelming urge to resettle Cas in his arms like a small child after a long, tiring drive.

"Mmmh," Cas murmured against his will after a moment. Dean's body rocked him gently as he walked and it was comfortable. He was vaguely aware of passing through the door, and inside the bunker, he faintly registered Crowley and Sam making salad, staring at the duo, but it didn't matter.

"Cas," Dean muttered. "We're at your room."

"I have a room?"

"Yeah. I made it for you when all of the angels fe- when I thought you might want it."

In all honesty, Dean had been subconsciously reserving the room for Cas since they had found the bunker, but when the angel became not-angel, he had gone in there and dusted and vacuumed until it was next-to-Godliness clean. He had washed the fluffy white covers and arranged a stack of books he thought Cas might like on the desk.

"Why?" Cas mumbled, his voice muffled by Dean's neck.

"I- I thought you might want to stay here. With us," he answered. "Now, I'm going to set you on the bed, okay, Cas?"

"Mm-kay, Dean."

Dean deposited the heavy lump of Cas on the bed with a thump, and the fallen angel didn't attempt to move; he just laid there stoically at the foot of the bed.

"Um, don't you want to, like, curl up and go to sleep or something?"

"I am curled up."

"I mean, up at the top of the bed where you will not fall off overnight."

"I cannot guarantee that I have the energy required to re-situate myself up at the top of the bed." Cas didn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Here. Climb on again." Dean took Cas in his arms once more so that he could peel back the blankets, albeit with a huge effort not to drop his friend.

"I am going to go get you some soup or something. Stay there."

"I cannot move with enough ease to go elsewhere," Cas muttered dejectedly.

* * *

"Is Cah-s okay?" Crowley asked as Dean joined them in the kitchen.

"He'll live," the hunter replied bluntly.

"I made pumpkin soup," Crowley said, motioning to a pot on the stove. "And there is a chicken Caesar salad in the refrigerator, if you would rather have that-"

"Crowley, what are you doing in my house?"

Crowley opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but with relative aplomb decided to keep quiet for the time being.

"Dean, it's okay."

"Have you forgotten what all he has done to us? What he's done to Cas?"

Crowley looked nauseated.

"Dean, he's-" Sam decided not to go the he-is-totally-different route. "We should keep an eye on him, right? Keep your friends close-" Sam motioned in the general direction of the bedrooms- "and your enemies closer?"

"I can cook," Crowley offered meekly.

"If you're lookin' for an olive branch, man, you gotta look a lot harder than that."

"Dean. We cannot let him go out there on his own. If we cast him out, we will have to deal with the consequences, and besides, he has entered an indentured servitude."

"In- what? Dentures?"

"I'll get a bowl of soup for Cah-s," Crowley muttered.

"Okay. You can stay for now. But you try anything, I will-"

"Skin me alive. Got it, sir."

* * *

**Okay, I am almost up to the point where my chapter went down the metaphorical toilet, so my frustration is waning. **

**Go see Star Trek: Into Darkness, my wee laddies and lassies, 'Tis truly a cinematic marvel. Also Iron Man Three.**

**Sorry about Crowley's out-of-character-ness, I just think he would feel so awkward and ashamed that he would automatically revert to odd humor (humour) and home-cooked meals.**

**Also, haggis is actually good. Look up what all is in it if your stomach is strong enough.**


	10. Pumpkin Soup

**Random shout out to user sad little satsuma for being my follower number one hundred! (The counter is stuck on ninety-nine for some reason but the Legacy Story Stats says that it's at one oh three and now I am confused ugh) Like the name. Always respect the Doctor Who Christmas Special~**

**I chose Pumpkin Soup for no particular reason other than it is the name of a Kate Nash song and whatever.**

**My friends' dogs are named Molly and Casey, so...**

* * *

Dean arranged a tray for Cas consisting of Crowley's pumpkin soup (which he sneaked a spoon-full of in the hallway; it was ridiculously tasty for one might expect of rabbit food prepared by the ex-King of Hell), tea, water, and buttered white bread with blueberries arranged in a smiley face on top. Sam had wisely decided not to comment on this choice of decoration, but Crowley was bold enough to smile at the hunter's hard-won affection.

The ex-King would never admit it, at least not yet, but he was really, truly, undeniably glad that Cas and Dean were... _whatever in his former kingdom's name_ they were. He had seen the way that they had acted around each other, and was able to use that to his advantage as a demon. But now, now he was happy that they were able to...co-exist in that weird, not-wholly-platonic manner of theirs.

He had been able to feel some odd, perverse imitation of happiness as a demon, sure, but it was usually something else masquerading as such. Satisfaction at a job well done, exhilaration at a particularly skillful kill, pleasure at maiming and torturing whoever dared to stand between him and what he wanted. But none of any of that could ever hope to compare to the little spark of joy that he felt for Cas and Dean, or the slight flickering ounce of hope that he experienced when Sam defended his presence for some stupid reason.

Still, though, it was unwaveringly drowned out by the immeasurable guilt and sorrow for all that he had done, the lives he had ruined, the pain and terror and lies and manipulation-

_I think I will go make a cake now._

* * *

Dean, unaware of Crowley's gaze trailing after him, padded back to Cas's bedroom, and opened the door softly without knocking.

"Cas? I brought you some food."

"Mhh." Cas looked up weakly, taking in the sight of Dean silhouetted in his doorway.

"You doin' okay?"

"I am experiencing a severe hangover and I have no painkillers in my system. I feel weak and purposeless."

Dean set the tray on the bed-side table, and sat down on the bed next to Cas.

"Cas..." There was not much to be said. "I just want you to know... I want you to know that no matter what species you are, you will always be worth something to me- to us."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas responded, but he didn't look completely reassured. He gazed down at his left hand, very interested in his ragged thumb-nail all of a sudden.

"Try some soup," Dean urged.

"No," Cas whispered.

"Cas, please?"

"No." The fallen angel's pretty blue eyes were becoming glassy, and tears were gathering in the edges.

"Please don't cry, Cas, I- I-"

Cas blinked and an uncomfortably hot tear glided down his cheek. He looked away, ashamed.

"Cas," Dean said. His heart was breaking for the fallen angel. More tears slipped out and he made a quiet choked sobbing noise.

"I am sorry, Dean, I- I..." Cas closed his eyes and hung his head.

"Shhh, it's okay, man, it's okay." Dean hesitated briefly before throwing his arms around Cas in a giant bear hug. Cas leaned into his chest and cried silently. "It's okay." Dean ran his hand through the fallen angel's hair comfortingly, something he hadn't done in years. He had been holding a dying twelve-year-old girl in his arms, singing her to rest. Before he knew about Heaven.

"Dean," Cas muttered into his shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay, Cas, you're okay."

"I- I-"

"You know, Cas, I used to take deaths on the job really, really hard," Dean admitted. "Especially children. I couldn't save them all, and sometimes they would die in my arms." Cas sniffled. "But ever since we got tangled up in the Apocalypse... Now that I know that there is a bona fide Heaven..." Dean rocked Cas back and forth, back and forth. "I feel much better knowing that you were there for them." Dean closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of his friend's hair.

"I used to w-watch you and Sam on your h-hunts," the former angel said, voice muffled by Dean's chest but intelligible. "Do you remember a little girl named Molly Casey?" Cas hiccuped.

"I can't forget her. She was stabbed six times and she just suddenly healed, just like that-" Dean pulled back. "That was you, Cas, wasn't it?"

"She was pure of heart." Cas nodded, a faint smile ghosting over his features.

"That hunt- that hunt was awful. But in the end, little Molly Casey..." Dean smiled. "You're truly amazing, Cas, do you know that?"

"I knew our paths would cross, so I watched out for you," Cas admitted sheepishly.

"Thank you, Cas, really. It means so much to me."

"The old Dean would have sputtered indignantly and said 'that's creepy, Cas'," the fallen angel said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, the old Dean..." Dean smiled. "I don't know where he went."

"It's okay. I like this Dean too," Cas confided.

"Yeah? Well, I like this Cas." Dean ruffled his best friend's hair before turning his attention back to the food. "And I think this new Cas will like new Crowley's soup."

* * *

After spoon-feeding Cas ('Cas, you're like a freakin' garbage disposal or something!' 'I do not understand why you are comparing me to an appliance.') the entire bowl of soup, the bread and the beverages, Dean had helped Cas curl up under the covers.

"Beds are nice. I like beds a lot," Cas murmured. "Can I have some more covers?"

"Beds are good," Dean agreed, putting all of the dishes back on the tray. He walked over to the door and turned off the lights. "I'll be back in a minute with some more covers."

Cas listened to Dean's footsteps and wondered why the hunter bothered helping him.

_I don't have my powers any longer; I can't 'teleport', as he puts it, I can't heal anyone, I can't smite. He shall be rewarded in Heaven for his kindness and generosity. He shall be one of the most lauded men in history, with all of the people he has saved from evil and the good deeds he has done. God will forgive him his lies and stealing, his heart is pure enough to cleanse out Hell and every single demon therein._

_Even Sam, the boy with the demon blood, has redeemed himself thousands of times over. He shall sit upon a throne of laurels alongside his brother._

_Kevin Tran; the reluctant prophet, giving up his dreams in order to fulfill his...unwanted...destiny. He will be written into the Holy Book._

Cas felt warm and comfortable, the blankets chasing away the omnipresent guilt, at least for a while.

_I love these brothers._

* * *

Dean ignored Sam's questions and Crowley's gentle hints as he washed the fallen angel's dishes off.

"Where's Cas sleeping? Is he in your room? Is he doing okay? Does he need any painkillers?"

"Dean, you seem to be growing quite close to that angel."

"Did you find him some clothes? Did he eat the soup?"

"He might like it if you stayed with him."

"Both of you, shut up." Dean grabbed a towel and began to wipe the dishes dry.

"Oh, let me," Crowley interjected, snatching the towel, leaving Dean staring dumbfounded for a minute before he shook his head clear and continued speaking.

"Cas hasn't eaten in like, six days, which, in combination with his massive hangover, made him really weak. He has his own room and I am not sleeping with him. Not now, not ever."

"But he-" Sam snapped his mouth shut, carefully reconsidering his words. "He's probably going to have nightmares, Dean, you should stay with him."

"Yeah," Crowley agreed. "In the cell, he was tossing and turning all night, screaming about silver knives and stuff."

"Really?" Sam asked. "You should definitely stay, then, Dean," he added, nodding. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"He kept asking for you all throughout the night," Crowley said.

"He did?" Dean asked softly, indignation wholly forgotten.

"He likes you a lot, Dean," the ex-demon said.

"No. You know what? I have a perfectly good bedroom. Where I sleep. On my own. Alone. Without Cas. He has survived much worse than a night alone," Dean snapped.

"It was worth a shot," Crowley muttered to his fellow conspirator as Dean retreated down the hallway.

"He'll come around. He's caught up in a masculinity crisis right now," Sam whispered, nodding.

* * *

Dean clenched and un-clenched his fists as he walked away. _Since when is my brother best friends forever with the King of Hell? And what is with their sudden slumber party gossip session?_

He reached his own bedroom and went inside, making a bee-line for the bed where his own covers lay. There were probably more in a supply closet somewhere, but they were for Cas and therefore had to be worthy.

Dean headed back to his friend's bedroom, tugging an armload of tangled blankets along with him.

He did not notice Sam standing at the end of the hallway, gesturing wildly to Crowley.

Cas was sniffling softly, but he cut it out as soon as Dean entered, clearly wanting to hide his emotions from the hunter.

"I got you some more blankets," Dean said softly.

"Th-Thanks, Dean," Cas responded. Dean left the door open so that he had some light by which to work. He spread the blankets one by one over the already-thick stack of them, covering the fallen angel with at least four inches of fabric before he had depleted his supply.

"Goodnight, Cas," Dean said, walking over to the door.

"Stay," Cas whispered, so quietly that Dean wondered if he was imagining things.

"What?"

"Stay with me. Please, Dean?" Cas paused for a minute. "I don't like having nightmares."

_You know what?_ Dean thought. _Screw masculinity. Screw it in its big, ugly face._

He closed the door and returned to Castiel's bed, lying down atop the covers, not entirely ready to crawl under them and wrap his arms around his sleepy friend.

* * *

**I personally think masculinity has a rather nice-looking face, but whatever. Oh, and thanks, everyone, for your kind reviews!**


	11. Out In The Open

**Wow, two chapters in one day. Are you guys lucky or what? (Someone slap me please and tell me to stop flattering myself)**

**But I'm pretty proud of this chapter.**

**Finally, some hard-won Dean-and-Cas-and-Cas-and-Dean-ness.**

**Nothing graphic quite yet, but stay tuned. **

**Thanks for all the follows, views, visits, reviews, PMs, and general love I've gotten from this story! It's such an honor! I can barely conjure up a mental image of a hundred individual people, let alone fathom that they would all independently want to read my story. That's not even counting the two guests who keep reviewing faithfully! (I love you guys! Get an account so I can love you please please pretty please with Castiel on top?)**

**Also, this was written on my brandy-new iPhone in a waiting room, so I apologize in advance for typos.**

* * *

"Stay," Cas whispered against his will.

_Oh, my father in Heaven, why did I say that? Now he'll think I'm trying to _court_ him. What if he thinks I'm super weird and leaves? I can't take not having him around in this state, I am far too vulnerable. And I'll miss him. Oh, God, what have I done? I _cannot_ lose Dean. Not now. Not ever..._

"What?" Dean asked.

"Stay. With me. Please, Dean? I can't take the nightmares."

Cas held his breath. If Dean left now, their friendship was surely over.

But Dean, instead of opening the door wider and leaving, shut it gently and curled up on the other side of the bed. Cas listened to his breathing, comforted by the rhythmic sounds. The hunter fell asleep within five minutes, still worn out from his erratic sleep schedule and late night.

"Thank you, Dean," he whispered to the sleeping man. "Sleep well."

* * *

Dean awoke sometime around seven in the evening, shivering. He briefly wondered why he hadn't gotten underneath the covers, but decided not to dwell on it. He just peeled back the thick layer of blankets and crawled in between the sheets.

* * *

_Naomi and Cas were standing in a pure, white expanse of a room, gazing down at a glass floor which yielded a perfect bird's-eye view of the bunker. Naomi gestured to a room where Dean slept, clad in a pristine white tunic that would have made Christ himself jealous. He looked immensely peaceful, all traces of worry, usually etched onto his face liked faded initials in a tree, erased._

_"He looks so carefree," Naomi remarked, gazing at the serene hunter._

_"He deserves it," Cas said._

_"You deserve that, Castiel." Naomi looked at him fondly. "You always have."_

_"I deserve nothing," Cas noted softly._

_"You are human. You have made your mistakes and dealt with their consequences thusly. You deserve some happiness."_

_"But I am not a human," Cas muttered._

_"Castiel, can't you see?" Naomi smiled softly. "You were _always_ human in your heart."_

_Cas considered this for a minute, then returned his attention to the sleeping hunter._

_"I do not know what to do, my brother," he admitted to Naomi._

_"Kill him."_

_Cas whisked around, facing Naomi head on. But the other angel had faded away, leaving a large, black cloud in the spot where she had been standing._

_"Kill him, Castiel!"_

_Cas whirled around; the sound seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once._

_"Kill Dean!"_

_"Kill the human!"_

_Thousands of voices were now echoing across the vast room. Below, Dean whimpered in his sleep._

_"Kill Dean Winchester!"_

_The voices continued, surrounding Cas. He clamped his hands over his ears, crouching on the glass floor._

_"Kill him," said one voice, over and over again, rising above the others._

_Metatron's voice._

_"_No,_" Cas whimpered. The other voices faded out, leaving only Metatron's chant._

_Kill him kill him kill him kill him_

_"_No, I won't_."_

_Kill him, Castiel._

No. Not Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean. No.

_Cas. Kill him._

Cas.

_Kill him._

_Cas._

"Cas!"

_Suddenly, the white room vanished and he was left in the darkness._

"Cas, wake up!"

_Dean._

"Cas, please. You're scaring the hell out of me."

_"Kill Dean."_

"DEAN!"

"Cas. Please, baby, wake up. Wake up. Wake up. You're having a nightmare. Wake up, please," Dean whimpered.

"Dean," Cas whined.

"It's me. I'm here. It's Dean. It's Dean. Wake up Cas, please," Dean babbled, shaking his fallen friend.

"Dean?"

"Dean. Yes, Cas. It's me. It's Dean," Dean said with shaky, relieved laughter."It's me."

"Dean," Cas said. "Dean."

"You were screaming," Dean said.

"I- I dreamed-" Cas realized he was shaking violently.

"I know. I know, Cas. You were having a nightmare."

Dean pulled Cas into his arms, rocking him back and forth like he used to when Sam, as a child, dreamt of Mary on the ceiling.

"I dreamed that you-" Cas shuddered and his voice broke. "I dreamed that I had to kill you." He began to cry into Dean's chest. Dean cradled his head next to his heart, one hand on the former angel's neck and one around his body. He buried his forehead in Cas's hair, wanting to take the pain away, aching for the fallen man.

"It's okay, Cas. I've got you."

Cas inhaled shakily.

"Promise me."

"I promise, Cas."

Cas wiped his eyes on Dean's tee shirt.

"Sorry," he said softly, pulling away from the hug and settling back into bed, effectively cutting himself off from Dean's embrace.

"Cas, you never have to apologize about your feelings for me."

Dean froze.

Cas froze.

"To me. Your feelings to me," he stammered finally. "You don't have to apologize. About your feelings. To me."

Electric tension sparkled in the air, fueled by Dean's slip-up.

"Um, Freudian slip?" Dean suggested after a while.

"Doesn't a Freudian slip connotate a subconscious desire for the accidental words to be true?"

More silence.

"I think it does."

Cas rolled over to face Dean. The hunter was propped upon one elbow, gazing back at him, anxiety and hopefulness illuminated in his eyes by the light sneaking in through the crack under the door.

Everything was out on the table now; cards they weren't even aware they had been holding now exposed for all to see. They had been skirting around this for years, for _years_, and now here they were, looking at each other in the dark and seeing the echoes of hope in each other's faces, faces that they were fluent in reading, the very faces that brought joy with one quick glance even when nothing else could. They were on the brink of a waterfall, dancing in no man's land.

The soldiers had laid down their weapons, stripped themselves of their armor, and they circled each other, each man sizing the other man up without moving a muscle or saying a word.

Dean hadn't even known he had wanted Cas until then. Wanted Cas. Wanted to fall asleep in his arms, to wake up to his smile, to laugh together and to share sidelong glances with him and hold his hand and to never, ever let go for anything.

Cas hadn't known up until know that he was even capable of wanting anything like that. Of wanting Dean.

"And is it true, in this case?" Cas whispered.

"I think it is."

* * *

**Please please please tell me how I did on this! I'm kind of nervous because I liked it, but I do not know if others would like it.**


	12. Masculinity

**Apparently when Dean screwed masculinity in its big, ugly face the condom broke.**

**Um.**

**Anyhow.**

**Oh, and a huge big shout-out to moria galadrial, one of the guests I mentioned previously for getting an account! Yay-ness!**

* * *

The first thing Dean was aware of when he woke up the next morning was that he was being snuggled with. Dean didn't snuggle. Ever.

The second thing he became aware of was that he was snuggling with Cas.

Cas. Who was a man. Also a fallen angel and his best friend, but still a man.

Cas mumbled something in his sleep, something that sounded like 'pineapple upside-down cake' but Dean suspected it had nothing to do with pastries in any way, shape, or form.

And the third: his best friend's dick was digging into his leg.

That got Dean out of bed, and fast. He stood up, panicking slightly- okay, panicking slightly more than slightly- and backed away from the bed. Cas stirred, sleep disturbed by the sudden movement, and rolled over, curling up in a tight little ball.

Dean began breathing fast and shallow, mind racing. _Cas. Man. Bed. Feelings. Man. Cas. Man._ He knew that last night's tentative conversations, with its hints and metaphors, would not go forgotten. And he didn't even know if he wanted Cas to forget, that was the real thing.

_I can't like Cas. Not like that. He is a man. A man. I am not gay. I am the straightest straight heterosexual straight guy to ever roam the Earth. But it's Cas and I like him. Maybe even love him but I am straight oh my god._

Dean bolted from the room, accidentally leaving the door open on his way out, pushing past Sam, who was going back to his own room. His brother stared at him, bewildered, before sagely deciding to let Dean freak out by himself.

Dean barely made it to his own bed, hyperventilating and attempting in vain to shut down his thoughts. He was not homophobic; he never had been homophobic. He had thought gay people were weird as a teenager, but that was probably a remnant of his father's general disdain for those who weren't straight. I wonder why that was, Dean wondered briefly before his mind turned back to panic. He knew that he was straight had always known, but now... Now here he was, down the hall from another man whose feelings were him were not exactly platonic, and his own were probably even less platonic.

_It really screws with your head to have your sexuality come crashing down through the roof in one night._

Dean ran his hand through his hair. He was confused, scared, panicked, and possibly gay...

* * *

"Dean?" Sam's voice came from the hallway, accompanied by a gentle knock. "Are you okay?"

"No. Go away," Dean shouted stubbornly.

"Dean..."

"I said go away, Sammy."

"No, Dean, I am not just going to walk away after watching you have a panic attack in the hallway."

Dean didn't answer.

Sam sighed, irritated at his older brother's childishness, but he was worried about the poor guy. He debated whether or not getting skinned alive was worth the risk, and opened the door.

_Screw it._

"Dean..." His brother was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, back hitting the end of the bed with every movement. Sam, with some difficulty, as he was still recovering from almost dying, sat down next to him.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone," Dean muttered, voice muffled.

"No way in hell, Dean. Talk."

Dean mumbled something about feelings being stupid bitches. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean. Are you going to talk or am I going to have to sic a P. M. S.-ing Wendigo on you?"

"I'll take the Wendigo," Dean grumbled.

"Of course you will."

"You can kill a Wendigo," Dean continued.

"Dean. I saw you go in to Cas's room last night and I saw you come out this morning," Sam said bluntly.

"I could be wrong, but I believe that is none of your damn beeswax," Dean said, poking his head up to glare at his little brother.

"I care about you, Dean. Masculinity crisis or no, I don't like to see you upset. Especially over something that can be fixed."

"Who says I'm having a masculinity crisis?" Dean asked, glaring. "I am perfectly fine. Peachy." He climbed up on top of the bed, pulling the one remaining sheet over his body and feigning sleep, snoring obnoxiously loudly.

"Dean, don't make me sit on you," Sam said. Dean shoved his face into a pillow and made an obscene gesture towards his brother. He moved up next to Dean, sitting against the head of the bed, ignoring his screaming muscles. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I think I might like Cas."

Sam bit down a you think, smart-ass?

"Okay? Is that a bad thing?"

"Cas is a guy," Dean mumbled.

"Get the damn pillow out of your face and talk to me." Sam easily wrestled the pillow away from his brother, despite his aching limbs. "You don't want to admit that you are kind of completely in love with Castiel, former angel of the Lord, not because of his former rank as celestial bad-ass but because he is residing in a man."

"If you know all this, why don't you leave me alone?" Dean pouted.

"So it's true-ue!" Sam said in a gentle sing-song.

"Shut your damn moose face, Sammy."

"Paraphrasing Crowley. Real mature," Sam said, grinning. Dean harrumphed and rolled over, finding the wall very interesting.

"Go away."

"Dean-"

"I am not gay."

_Oh, so that's what this is about. Dean still thinks he is straight. Wrong._

"Dean. Do you like Cas?"

"He's my best friend."

"Okay. And you have romantic feelings towards him?" Sam coaxed.

"No. Maybe. Yes," Dean admitted.

"And if he had happened to inhabit a girl's body, you would have gotten with him years ago?"

"Probably," Dean grumbled.

"And he likes you?"

"I think."

Sam counted to ten in order to prevent himself from grabbing his brother and locking him in Cas's room.

"Okay, so it's mutual."

"I think." Dean took a deep breath.

"Are you nervous because he's a man, or because you don't want to lose him?"

Silence.

"A little of both," Dean finally admitted.

"Dean, you are denying yourself one of the few things that you've ever had that might make you happy. Grow a pair, stop moping, and ask him out. Here's your pillow back." Sam, as gently as possible, slammed the pillow across his brother's head and sauntered triumphantly out to breakfast.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, his phone rang shrilly.

"Hi, this is Sam," he said into the phone.

"Sam? It's Charlie."

"Charlie? Is everything okay?"

"Are you guys okay? All those weird lights and Dean not answering his phone, I thought that maybe you guys had another one of your really big things."

"Yeah. Really big things is one way of putting it. But we're mostly okay. Well, when I say mostly okay, I mean that I almost died, the King of Hell is making us French toast, my prophet is nowhere to be found, and Dean is still trying to pretend-"

"Wait, you said prophet?" Charlie interrupted.

"Yeah, why-"

"Little Asian guy, about as tall and friendly as a garden troll?"

"That sounds like Kevin."

"He's asleep on my couch," Charlie said.

"What? Oh my gosh, is he okay?" Crowley, having heard the word Kevin, stood awkwardly, spatula askew and French toast sizzling.

"Apart from a seizure or two and a hospitalization, which was actually not expensive, thanks to Obama-care, he's fine."

"Damn."

"Yeah. Is this what you guys do to all of your friends?"

"Honestly, yes."

"Well, I'm heading to the bunker, because when he found me, I was minding my own business in Moondor when he just showed up and started rambling about how I had to get there because something about the Winchesters needing all of their family together and somehow that includes me."

"Um. Okay. Bring Kevin too."

"Of course, you dummy."

After exchanging good-byes, Sam hung up.

"Keh-ev?" Crowley asked nervously.

"Yeah. Kev."

"Well, shit. I better get my medical insurance sorted out."

"Apparently Obama-care's doing a pretty good job."

"Uh."

"Um, Crowley? Your toast is burning."

"I'm toast, Sammy."

* * *

**I don't even know what that last bit about Obama-care was O. K. my brain is fried. Like, Spongebob grilled it up at the Krusty Krab type fried. O. K. I am going to stop talking/typing now.**

**Thank you all for your continued support! Except for that one dude who keeps leaving scathing comments on every chapter within minutes... I'm on to you, man!**


	13. Little Fishes

**Read into this however you wish. (I have a long chapter coming up, not to worry.)**

* * *

Cas turned on the T. V. at some point during the early afternoon, just after lunch (quiche a la Crowley). He didn't seem able to grasp the concept of the remote control, and watched whatever channel had been left on previously: Animal Planet, as Kevin had liked to have the animals in the background as he worked. It soothed him.

Playing was a documentary about fishes of the coral reefs. Cas stared, transfixed by the shimmery colors and beautiful images. The narrator was talking about how the individual fishes acted like one united fish as they swam in schools.

_Just like the angels._

A large shark lurked a couple of yards behind the fish. Cas watched as the fishes swam on, oblivious. Finally, the shark lunged and bit, snaring five of the fishes in its punishing jaws.

Cas cried out, fear coursing through his body for the little fish, crushed in the teeth of an enemy far beyond their capabilities.


	14. Like Spork And Cock

**Well, my laptop (which I have named Mister Smith- please tell me you get that) is being a basic bitch and deleted my chapter. **

**AGAIN.**

**This is becoming a pattern with you! You think the rules are for other people!**

**Ugh blergh. Go see Star Trek.**

* * *

"Honey, I'm ho-o-me!" Charlie announced upon entering the Men of Letters compound. It was largely deserted, Sam and Cas both napping in their respective rooms, Dean reading a cheesy novel left in the supermarket by a middle-aged woman. (He was enjoying it much more than he would have liked to admit- why didn't Sebastian just choose Claire? Victoria was a stupid little bitch. And why did Phillip have to be so petty?) Crowley was cooking, as per usual, preferring to think about sauteed vegetables from Trader Joe's than sauteed humans from Hell.

Crowley looked at her, tentatively. "Chah-lie?" Sam and Dean had told him that she was coming over with Kevin, but he had never met the fair queen of Moondoor.

"Dean? Who is the Scottish guy?" Charlie shouted.

The hunter looked up, still totally absorbed in the novel; wondering whether Sebastian would choose Vicky or Claire, and where the hell Philip went.

"Oh, very good," Crowley said. "Most people just assume I'm British 'cos of the accent."

"I watch a lot of British shows. You know, Sherlock, Downton Abbey, Doctor Who, Torchwood, the whole nine yards."

"Charlie, Crowley, Crowley, Charlie," Dean shouted, and then returned to the trials and tribulations of Sebastian Du Lac.

"What the _actual_ fuck is _he_ doing here?" Kevin had slipped in quietly, and was now staring daggers at Crowley, seething. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Who killed his mother?" Charlie muttered under her breath.

"Um. Me, actually," Crowley mumbled. Charlie stared, shocked.

Kevin, once he regained the ability to move, was up in the kitchen with demon-like speed.

"What the FUCK are you doing here?" Kevin slammed his fist into Crowley's nose, relishing the sickening crunch as the cartilage broke under his knuckles. Charlie gasped, and put a hand over her mouth. Kevin had seemed so mellow... but then, seizures tend to curb malicious intent. "You-" Kevin punctuated each word with a punch. "YOU-" whap- "KILLED. MY. MOTHER. YOU. BASTARD!"

By this time, Crowley's nose was gushing blood, and his lower lip was split. He closed his eyes, savoring the punishment, glad he could finally find a physical sensation somewhat close to his emotional one.

"Fight BACK, you fucking-"

"Kevin!" Charlie shouted. Dean, who had come bursting in, held her back.

"He needs this. He'll stop before he kills him," he muttered to her, willing her to understand.

Kevin grabbed a fistful of Crowley's hair, and slammed his face into his knee. Dean flinched but kept himself from tearing between the two. God only knew what he had wanted to do to the bastard for himself, for Sammy, for Sarah, for Mrs. Tran, for Kevin's girlfriend (whatever her name was), for Samandriel and Ellen and Jo and...

"FIGHT-" slam. "BACK!"

Crowley collapsed on the ground, and Kevin started kicking him in the chest.

"I will murder you," he growled in a low voice. He pinned Crowley's neck under one leg. "I will end you. Do you understand? Not now, not today. But you better watch your_ fucking back_, because I am going to_ skin_ you alive, boil, stab, and then shoot you." He released Crowley's neck.

Crowley coughed, a string of bloodied saliva falling from his lips.

"Consider yourself warned," Kevin said, massaging his reddened knuckles and smiling slightly.

"Well, shit," Charlie said, shell-shocked. Kevin chuckled chillingly, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and stalked off to the bedroom he had claimed previously.

Dean was too stunned to point out that Kevin was too young to drink. For a reason that he wouldn't remember later, he gave Crowley a hand up and pointed him in the direction of the medical ward.

Charlie looked at him, a little wide eyed, and he shrugged.

"He killed Kevin's mom," he offered by way of explanation.

* * *

Dinner was _awkward_. Cas, after having woken up from his nap, assisted Crowley in dressing his wounds. Kevin had given him three cracked ribs, a busted jaw, a missing tooth, a black eye, and a busted lip, for starters. Cas wasn't talking, and Dean recognized the mourning in his eyes.

_He misses healing._

Crowley, on the other hand, seemed much calmer after his beating, not showing any signs of pain other than a little whimper here and there when a rib twinged.

Dean caught Charlie up as they made dinner; from the angels falling to Kevin's mother and girlfriend, from Naomi to Metatron, from the trials to the tablets. Crowley was in no condition to cook, so Dean and Charlie created a menagerie of sandwiches. Charlie, it seemed, had a remarkable talent at guessing people's favorites: salmon on pumpernickel for Kevin, a Reuben for Dean, turkey on wheat for Sam, corned beef on rye for Crowley, egg salad on white bread for Cas (how she guessed that one Dean would never know) and tuna salad with capers on white for herself.

Dean and Sam sat at the head and foot of the table. Cas immediately claimed the seat to Dean's right, feeling alienated in a room full of people. Charlie sat next to Sam, eager to catch up with him. He was rather ill last time she had seen him.

"You're looking a lot less sallow," she had teased fondly.

Crowley didn't seem to want to join him, but at the fallen angel's bequest, sat down awkwardly next to Charlie. Kevin grabbed a six pack of beer from the fridge, silently challenging anyone to object. Cas and Sam had heard of the fight earlier, and tacitly decided not to rub him the wrong way.

"Dude's a freakin' ninja, Sammy," Dean had related.

Now, Charlie was making small talk with Sam. Kevin had finished his beer and surreptitiously snagged the one everybody knew Cas would never drink. Crowley and Charlie chatted about England, and Sam ate three sandwiches.

Dean ate about half of his before realizing that Cas had stopped after three bites. He suspected his friend had only gotten that far to spare his feelings. Now, he stared at the wall behind Crowley's head, tuning out all conversation and making no attempt to eat. Dean remembered having read at some point that dilated pupils were a sign of a depressive state, and it seemed to be happening to Cas right then.

"Cas?" he asked softly.

Cas was so tuned out, he didn't even hear Dean, much less acknowledge that he was being spoken to.

"Cas, are you okay?"

Cas looked balefully at his sandwich and things instantly clicked.

"Cas, you don't have to eat the sandwich if you don't want."

Still no response.

"Cas," Dean murmured, placing a hand gently on the fallen angel's shoulder. Cas started and flinched, looking around wildly for a moment before realizing where he was.

"Dean?" Cas breathed, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look down to a T.

"Cas, why don't we get you back to bed, and you can try eating more later," Dean suggested softly. By know, all conversation around them had ceased, but neither man noticed.

"Mm-hmm," Cas said noncommittally, but allowed himself to be guided gently down the hall.

"So, what's the deal with those two?" Charlie asked quietly once the pair of men had retreated.

"Cas and Dean are... close," Sam summarized.

"I don't know if they know it yet, but I think that they complete each other. Sort of like Bonnie and Clyde, or Batman and Robin on a good day."

"Robin's a wimp," Charlie added helpfully.

"Yeah, but then again, so is Dean," Sam pointed out, snorting.

"Anyhow, I ship it," Charlie said, forgoing the beer and pouring herself some orange juice.

"Ship?" Crowley and Sam questioned simultaneously.

"Means she..." Kevin gesticulated sloppily. "Means she likes them as a pairing."

"Like Spirk," Charlie said, nodding, then rolled her eyes as she realized they still didn't have a clue what she was getting at.

"Spock and Kirk," Kevin clarified. "From Star Trek."

"Ah. 'Slash fans', right?" Sam said. The whole Sam-slash-Dean thing was much funnier after his beer and Crowley's beer.

"Hey, don't hate on the yaoi. 'S good stuff," Charlie said around a mouthful of salad.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who Spock and Kirk are," Crowley muttered sheepishly. Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him.

"Dude, you know Batman and Robin but not Spork and Cock?" Sam sputtered. Kevin giggled in a manly fashion at his slip-up.

"I like Firefly better," Crowley admitted. Charlie gasped.

"Oh my god, Firefly is like the best! Well, so is Star Trek. They are both best. Nathan Fillion is great. I met him once. He is built," she gushed. "You really haven't seen Star Trek? Oh my god, this is perfect. Tomorrow, all of us are going to see Into Darkness. You guys need some fun and a lesson on shipping," she babbled. "You said you saw Sherlock, right? The guy who played him, Bene-something-complicated-and-long, he's the villain."

"Okay," Crowley said, looking a bit overwhelmed.

"I kind of wanted to see it," Sam admitted. "I liked the two thousand and nine one."

"Same cast, same director, but there's a bona fide villain in this one, so I think it will be better. Plus, Sherlock-guy is eye candy. I sort of wish I was straight so I could worship his cheekbones."

"You're gay?" Crowley asked absently.

"Yeah. And let me tell you, my gay-dar was going haywire when Cas walked in."

"Makes sense," Kevin said. "Those two."

"Has he got any clothes? He doesn't strike me as a denim jacket type of guy," Charlie guessed.

"He's more the... suits twenty-four-seven type of lad," Crowley said.

"I think he's been wearing Dean's clothes," Sam mentioned.

"They are so gay," Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

"He needs new clothes. So, tomorrow we are going to a movie, buying Cas some clothing, maybe you too, Crowley. You're human now, right? And then the four of us can clear out, perhaps leaving those two in a totally romantic setting while we grab some Chinese food."

"We can leave them in an adult novelty video store," Crowley suggested jokingly.

"No, I already considered that, but Cas would have all sorts of awkward questions and Dean would crucify me."

"I love how you_ actually considered_ that," Sam said.

"So, we can make them eat tons of popcorn, like, so they aren't hungry, and then we can grab a pizza or whatever and point them towards a local park," Kevin contributed.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, raising his depleted beer. "To Dean and Cas."

"To Dean and Cas!"

"To Dean and Cas!"

"To Cas and Dean!"

"KEVIN!"

"Uh, to Dean and Cas!"

* * *

**The Nathan Fillion bit was totally necessary. Felicia Day, who plays Charlie, was in Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog with him and therefore of course they met. Fantastic movie, I recommend it wholeheartedly. The girl can ****_sing._**

**Also, Charlie is my spirit animal and I totally think she would drag her boys around shopping and movie-going and match-making. Plus, with her tendencies, she could totally be a Trekkie. Time to break out the Star Fleet t-shirts!**

**(My computer does not recognize 'Fillion' as a word, but it recognizes 'Trekkie'. Weird. Get yo shit together, Mr. Smith.)**


	15. In Which Dean Grows A Pair

**Author's Long-Winded and Frankly Rather Irritating Note:**** Holy ghost, Batman. I pulled an all nighter last night (I have severe insomnia) and I have that feeling where you are so tired yet so buzzed and the world is too bright, the colors too sharp, and it generally feels trippy as fuck as you watch your life flash by like you're at a drive-in movie with bad video quality. So, if this latest chapter embodies any of the aforementioned traits, please cough and look the other way. I have no control over what my body is doing today and it decided to write a chapter instead of doing its final project in chem.**

**I didn't choose the thug lyf3, the thug lyf3 chose me. Swag. Yolo Swaggins of Swag-end.**

**Did you know that a swag, in addition to being something all da cool gangsta$ have, is a small, ornamental wreath-like entity that isn't circular, it's just a little pine sprig of awkwardness you can put on your table at Yuletide. The things you will learn with your consulting TARDIS banana angel. (OMG THE FIRST BIT OF MY NOM DE PLUME WHEN IT IS SPELLED BACKWARDS IS LEG NAA NA NA NA IS THAT NOT JUST FANTASTIC AND WONDERFUL) O. K. I shall shut my mouth now because I am babbling. But most people skip the Author's Note anyhow so byeeeee~~!**

* * *

Dean snaked an arm around Cas's back, and the newly human angel slumped into him as if he didn't have the energy to walk. He shuffled his feet along slowly, his eyes closed, and cried softly to himself. Dean was tempted to bring Cas into his bedroom, as it was closest, but he resisted, telling himself that he was not going to spend the night with the former angel.

They finally arrived at Cas's room, and Dean all but carried him to the bed. He sat down next to his friend, arm still around his shoulders. Cas cried silently, and Dean held him so tightly that he felt his arms get tired.

Finally, the former angel sniffled pitifully and pulled away, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of Dean's ragged denim jacket. He took a shuddering breath and began to speak.

"Sorry, Dean," he mumbled. "I just- I saw the food, and I..." he trailed off. "I never needed to eat before, and the fact that it tasted so good meant that I had fallen to the point where I actually have preferences of foods-" he babbled.

"Whoah, whoah, slow down, Cas. You're fine. You don't have to apologize, we went over that last night."

"Sorry, Dean," the angel muttered again. He realized what he had just said and moved to apologize yet again, for apologizing, but Dean brushed his thumb across the angel's perpetually chapped lips. Cas's eyes grew wide and he looked around, not sure what to do. Dean dropped his hand once he was aware that he had just touched Cas. On the lips.

"How can I get you to eat?" Dean asked after a while. "It's breaking me apart to watch you weaken yourself like this." He searched Cas's face for any sign of hunger or willingness to comply.

"I worry you. I apologize." He clapped a hand over his mouth, and Dean smiled despite himself.

"You're adorable," he blurted. Then it was his turn to cover his mouth.

"No more apologies," Cas said.

"Show me that you're sorry by fixing it," Dean suggested. "Can I buy you some coffee? Or a cheeseburger? You liked those things, didn't you? I need to... I need you to... I need to see you eat." He grabbed Cas's hand desperately.

"I could try some pie," he suggested shyly. The corner of Dean's lips rose in a lopsided grin.

"You still haven't had pie, have you?" He asked. "You are in for a treat."

"I want to try it. I just... I don't want to disappoint you," the fallen man added in a whisper.

"You won't. You won't ever disappoint me," Dean assured him. "It just hurts to see you so sad."

They were so close to each other's faces that each could feel the other's breath. Cas's pupils were heavily dilated again, and his mouth was opened slightly. He stared at Dean's mouth, then back up at his eyes, searching for any sign of approval...

Dean's heart was beating fast, uncomfortably fast, and he was acutely aware that he was still holding Cas's hand in his.

Cas cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. Dean realized that the fallen angel had started to cry again.

"I'm kind of tired," he said carefully, blinking rapidly, wiping away his tears before Dean could notice them.

"Let's get you in bed then," Dean said soothingly. He took his jacket off of Cas, pulled back the covers, and gently guided the former angel underneath. He brushed his hair out of his forehead, kissed his cheek, and retreated before he even had a chance to realize what that might mean.

* * *

Back in his own room, Dean slammed his fist in to the wall, over and over again, cursing anyone and anything that had done this to Cas.

_Made him so-_

Slam.

_Fragile._

Slam.

_Tore him apart._

Slam.

_Hurt him so badly._

Slam.

_Fucking Metatron._

Slam.

_Fucking Naomi._

Slam.

_Fucking assholes._

Slam.

_Bastards._

Slam.

_If they even touch my Cas-_

Slam.

_My Cas?_

Dean stopped, the pain rushing to his fist all at once.

_Since when did Cas become _my_ Cas?_

Dean ran his swollen hand under cold water, hoping to God that nobody heard his one-way fist-fight with the wall. Finally, the throbbing subsided, and he wrapped it in an ace wrap before collapsing on top of his bed.

* * *

Dean laid awake for hours, tossing and turning, mind racing.

_I kissed Cas. I kissed Cas. Castiel, my best friend, my guardian angel. My Cas. I called him _my Cas_ and I kissed him._

Finally, after hours, he realized something. Staring at the clock (three oh nine), wondering why he couldn't sleep, it hit him.

_I love him._

_I love him, and that is a _good_ thing._

At this point, his eyes felt dry and his head ached from tiredness. But he smiled to the dark room nonetheless, because he loved Cas.

_Like a brother, like a friend, like a partner._

He stood up, grabbed his blankets, and made his way down the hall. Cas was lying on his stomach, one arm underneath him and the other next to his face on the pillow. Dean pushed down the frightening, dangerous waterfall of feelings that cascaded in his chest and spread out his covers over top of Cas's. He crawled underneath them, and watched Cas breathe as he slept, his eyes moving back and forth in his dream.

"I love you," he told the sleeping man.

Cas didn't wake up, but after about a half an hour he gravitated towards his sleeping hunter and wrapped his arms around the man, still fully asleep.

The next morning, Dean woke up with his head nuzzled into the fallen angel's neck, his chest swollen at the intoxicating, musky smell and the comforting embrace. Cas mumbled something into Dean's hair while he slept, and it sounded suspiciously like Enochian.

Dean didn't run. He panicked slightly, but he didn't run.

Instead, he let the rise and fall of his angel's chest lull him back to sleep.

It was scary as Hell, letting down his guard like this, but for now he didn't care. Cas was warm, and he stayed.

He stayed, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Charlie was up by eight in the morning, looking up local showtimes and lunch specials and department stores on her laptop at the kitchen table. She wired a couple thousand dollars into her favorite debit card, thanks to a high-level business executive who had been so drunk while flirting with her that he practically was asking to be pick-pocketed.

"Thanks, old creep," she said as the transaction went through.

"Hey. I'm not that old," Sam said from behind her. Charlie jumped.

"Oh my god, Sam, you scared me!" She chuckled. "I was talking about-" she scrutinized the screen- "Charles Forsythe Worthington the third, of Romulus Enterprises. He was an old creep."

"Ah."

"So, he's buying Castiel's new clothes. And, what the hell, Crowley's, too. Ah, whatever. New clothes for everyone!" She decided.

"I'm down to three pairs of jeans that aren't bloodstained," Sam admitted sheepishly.

"God. Didn't anyone teach you how to use a tampon?" Charlie joked.

"Um. What?" Kevin joined them, looking warily between the two.

"Kevin! Good morning," Charlie said chirpily.

"Anyone see my brother?" Sam asked. He pulled out a huge, Costco industrial-size bag of cereal and a stack of bowls. "I made breakfast," he joked.

"Not since he ran off with Castiel last night," Kevin said.

"Oh. His door was open and he wasn't in bed, so I thought maybe he'd gone out."

"Or he just never left Castiel's room," Charlie said with an eyebrow wiggle.

"Nah, we would have heard it if that had happened," Crowley said, making them all jump. He grabbed a bowl and poured some cereal.

"Um. Ew," Kevin said.

"That's- that is_ really_- I did _not_ need to think about that," Sam sputtered.

"It's totally canon," Charlie said.

She was met with blank stares.

"Um. Fandom-speech, sorry. Okay, so there's an eleven twenty-five showing of Star Trek Into Darkness about forty miles from here. Then we can hit the mall, or if Dean is being his usual stubborn self, we can take him to a Target."

"Maybe that would be the better act of valor," Sam agreed. "Target generally has less stimuli, and Cas is sort of... adjusting. Plus, we could get him practically everything there."

"I just can't do the noisy malls anymore," Kevin pointed out. "My seizure threshold has been dramatically lowered since the man upstairs chose me as his interpreter."

"Have you thought about getting yourself some Topiramate?" Crowley asked.

"Topa- what now?" Kevin said, head tilting sideways.

"Seizure preventative medication," the ex-demon informed him. Sam raised an eyebrow. "What? I read a lot," he defended, shrugging.

* * *

Cas woke up to find Dean buried in his arms. For once, the guilt was bearable and the pain, physical and psychological, had dissipated. However, there was a deep burning in his abdomen that he assumed was hunger. He stood up slowly, kissed the hunter softly on his forehead, and went to go get some breakfast.

* * *

**That may have been the most non-sensical Dean/Cas thing ever. #YOOOOLO**

***Runs off cackling into the twilight***


	16. Three-D Glasses

**Ack, forsooth, I literally cannot stop updating this here tale. You guys and your comments make me happier than a malnourished, cold, wet, under-grown kitten lapping at warm milk! I have never actually seen a cat drinking warm milk. It sounds kind of disgusting to me. I mean, warm milk? EW. But seriously. I love your reviews. **

**I am eating sausage right now and it is so fuckin' amazing you have no idea.**

* * *

Charlie was volunteered for the task of explaining the Star Trek characters and important plot devices to all who didn't know on the drive over. She took Cas and Crowley in her car, ignoring the lingering, mournful looks Dean sent in the fallen angel's direction. Sam and Dean chatted with Kevin, who Sam graciously allowed shotgun. Charlie gave a synopsis of the 2009 Star Trek, and did such a flawless job that even Cas comprehended it without any further questions.

"But I do not understand. If Spock and Kirk are so clearly made for one another, then why does Spock continue to court Lieutenant Uhura?" Okay, one further question.

"I don't think that they are aware of their feelings," Charlie explained. "Kirk would probably have to go through an existential crisis beforehand."

"Remind you of anyone?" Crowley asked. Charlie giggled.

"No," Cas answered. _Not since the other night._

* * *

The movie was brilliant. Charlie and Kevin sat next to each other, eagerly whispering about the plot. The theater was mostly deserted, so Crowley (on Charlie's other side) didn't bother to smack them in the backs of their heads. Sam felt truly relaxed for the first time in ages. The world was ending and it was not his problem; Spock and Kirk had it all taken care of.

Well, mostly all taken care of.

Dean, as planned, had ended up with the giant tub of popcorn sitting between him and Cas.

"Cas, come on, it's really, really good. I promise I won't make you eat any more if you don't like it, but just try some," he had urged, covering the bucket with the artificial butter stuff from the lobby.

"I guess I could attempt to consume some," the former angel had replied stiffly.

Dean watched eagerly as Cas carefully chose two perfect, golden, puffy kernels of popcorn and brought them to his lips. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

"I enjoy the flavor," he had said finally, and Charlie gave Sam a fist bump. "It tastes like the embodiment of sunshine," he concluded, causing a smile from Crowley, who eagerly concurred. Dean had been so pleased that he had gone back to the concession stand and bought himself a king-sized Fanta slushie, which he fully planned to give to Cas.

Now, they were nearing the climax of the movie. Cas liked the dialogue and the characters, but the explosions were a bit too loud for him, and he clenched his hands into fists. He cried when Khan related his tale to Kirk, laughed at all the wrong moments, and ate popcorn.

Now was the final betrayal, and Cas dug his nails into his palms. So much of the story reminded him of things he had gone through, and he enjoyed the fact that it was all fake. The three-D cinema astounded him. Things flew out of the movie at the audience, and he loved every second of it. Except maybe the explosions and the deaths of innocent civillians.

Dean found himself watching Cas, nervous to see how his friend would take it. From the very beginning, the fallen angel had been rapt with attention, whisked away by the beautiful aesthetics. He felt warm and comforted by the wonder on Cas's face, and it was all he could ask for to see him smiling and content.

_I love his smile,_ Dean realized. _I love the way his head tilts when he is confused, and he narrows his eyes, trying to understand. I love his messy hair and the way my clothes are too big on him and-_

"Yo, Dean, the movie's over." Sam's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He was gracious enough not to smirk at Dean's dopey expression.

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I was, uh, making sure Cas liked it," he managed to sputter out after a bit.

"I found the story enthralling, the visual concepts beautiful, and the explosions frightening," Cas reviewed. He was still wearing his three-D glasses, and they rested crookedly on his nose. Dean realized with triumph that the two of them had eaten the full bucket of popcorn and that Cas had indeed usurped his slushie.

"I'm glad you liked it," Dean said genuinely. Sam had to bite down on his lip to keep from grinning stupidly at his brother and future-brother-in-law. Charlie elbowed Kevin.

"I am hungry," Kevin announced. Charlie agreed loudly.

"If only Cas and Dean hadn't eaten all the popcorn," she lamented sadly.

"I apologize, I had absolutely no intention of keeping the snack food to myself I will- Ow, Dean!"

"No apologizing. We talked about that last night," Dean reminded him.

"I apo- I mean, It was delicious," the fallen man quickly corrected.

"Better," Dean said. Cas smiled.

"You two are exactly like Spock and Kirk," Sam said.

"Dean, you are so totally Kirk," Charlie said. "You've got that whole...hero thing going on. Plus, tight shirts suit you," she added nonchalantly. Crowley shook his head, amused.

"That would, in turn, make me the metaphorical equivalent of Mister Spock," Cas said.

"He even talks like him," Crowley agreed. "You're like a socially inept alien man turned best friend slash co-conspirator to Kirk."

"That makes Sam Bones," Dean said. "He's a dork."

"Hey. McCoy is a genius," Sam defended. "So I am obviously him."

"I think I am Scotty," Charlie deduced. "We're both brilliant, short gingers who are good with technology and good at villains."

"Kevin is Chekov," Cas said, nodding, clearly proud that he was able to join in on the metaphor.

"I am strangely okay with that," Kevin said. "Chekov saves the day."

"Every single one of the aforementioned characters does just that," Crowley added. "But I think you're more of a Hikaru Sulu."

"Is that because I'm an Asian?" Kevin asked, mock-indignantly. "'Cause I am super offended right now."

"No, it's because you're generally bad-ass and I would hate to piss you off," Dean said. Kevin's ears turned red, and he ducked his head at the praise.

They had made their way out of the theater. Crowley cringed at the bright daylight.

"I feel like a bloody vampire," he grumbled.

"Ah, yes, the post-movie theater brightness," Sam sympathized.

"It is very unpleasant," Cas commented. He was still wearing his glasses.

"Man, you have to take the glasses off after the movie ends," Dean said, but he was grinning at the fallen angel's endearing naivety. Before he could stop himself, he reached forwards and gently removed his glasses.

"I am now experiencing the affects of the sudden change in lighting," Cas said, squinting. Dean smiled and clapped his shoulder.

Charlie had to grit her teeth to keep from squealing like a puppy at the pair of them.

* * *

On the way to Target, Charlie kidnapped Cas, hoping to get him to spill about his feelings. Sam tagged along, despite feeling like a pigtail-clad, jumper-wearing seventh-grader getting ready for a gossip session.

"So, guys, did you like the movie?" Charlie asked carefully. Sam nodded, waiting for Cas to take the floor.

"I enjoyed it greatly. Humankind truly amazes me with its capacity for relating adventures. Dean told me that I would enjoy it, and he was correct."

"That was nice of him. He knows you pretty well, doesn't he?" Sam prodded gently.

"I sometimes feel as if he knows me better than I do myself," Cas admitted.

"He really likes you," Charlie said, keeping a neutral tone of voice.

"I enjoy his company greatly," Cas replied formally, reminding Sam and Charlie further of Spock. Charlie traded a glance with Sam in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, you guys are cute together," Sam said. He could practically see himself painting his toe-nails pink and braiding friendship bracelets. It was...actually kind of fantastic, he admitted sheepishly to himself.

"I do not understand," Cas said predictably.

"You're sweet on him," Charlie translated. Cas's eyes grew wide, and he looked away, blushing, trying to hide his smille.

"I am not," he said, wholly unconvincingly.

Charlie and Sam shared a telepathic _awwww!_

"It's okay, Cas," Sam said.

"Even if I did harbor romantic feelings for Dean, which I do not, at all, ever, I highly doubt he would harbor the same feelings," Cas said, rather sadly. "I just do not know. Human inclinations are highly confusing."

"Ask him," Charlie suggested.

"There's the Target," Sam pointed out.

"Are we tracking something?" Cas asked, confused.

"No, Cas, it's a store, " Charlie said, addressing him as Cas for the first time.

* * *

**So, because I apparently have an audience in places like Croatia and Latvia, and I do not actually know if you guys have slushies. They're like a mix of soda and crushed ice mixed up together like a penguin's happy place. But citrus flavor. Google it. It's yummy-licious.**

**But it isn't as good as u~~~~ *eyebrow waggle***


	17. Right On Target

**Note Of The Author Of The Story: I typed a lot of this chapter on my iPhone in school, a Chinese food buffet, and the parking lot at Trader Joe's. I have a surgery next week and I have been panicking non-stop (it is my first surgery) so if this chapter is a tad (okay, a lot) incoherent just please try to not kill me. God, I wish my lumbar region was normal so I didn't have to have this fucking surgery. Blergh.**

**P. S. Trader Joe's moose tracks ice cream is absolutely divine. Sam Winchester would approve. (Get it? Because he is a moose? GET IT?)**

* * *

In the men's clothing section of Target, Charlie led Cas up and down the aisles of clothes. Cas looked somewhat overwhelmed at the selection of fabrics and colors. Dean was eyeing the selection of tee shirts, wondering what Cas might like. Kevin and Sam had wandered of to the CD department, and Crowley was perusing the cookbooks. He had put a few button downs and pairs of pants in the cart as well as a wok ("How in the name of my former dominion do you expect me to make a reasonably good stir fry in a plain old frying pan?") and Sam had selected some jeans. Kevin still had clothes from his previous life, but Charlie suggested a tee shirt with a hipstered-up Jesus for the irony value, and Kevin had loved it.

"Buy a whole bunch of music," Charlie instructed them.

Now, however, Cas was looking utterly bewildered. Jimmy had only ever needed the one outfit when Cas had occupied him, and the fallen angel had as much fashion sense as a colorblind toddler.

"I like this one," he said, holding up a shirt for his friends' approval. It was a bright blue tank top with funky designs that looked like it was ripped off of a fourteen year old skateboarder.

"Nope," Charlie vetoed, saving Dean the discomfort. "You're best off sticking to collared shirts for now, my man."

"Okay," Cas agreed, fully aware that he had no jurisdiction in the clothing department. "Dean, will you help me guess my size?" Cas asked, gesturing at a table covered in button down shirts in gentle blue and purple hues.

"How 'bout this one?" Dean asked, holding up a royal blue shirt for approval. Charlie nodded. Cas, on the other hand, looked skeptical. "Come on, man!" Dean said. "It matches your eyes." Charlie's face softened like she was shopping for puppy dogs and had just seen the cutest little one tripping over its paws. Dean glared daggers at her.

"I suppose it could work," the fallen man replied.

* * *

Two hours later, they had two shopping carts laden with stuff. "If anyone asks," Charlie had decided, "Cas here's house burned down taking all of his stuff with it. We are on an insurance-sponsored shopping spree."

Cas had chosen five variations of he shirt Dean had suggested, in different colors, three blue and two purple, when Sam and Kevin returned with Crowley in tow. Crowley had chosen three cookbooks and Sam had grabbed one as well. Kevin had found the second book on Sebastian Du Lac et al for Dean, and he had an armful of CDs. Having Charlie's slightly-unlawful debit card with its thousands of dollars urged them all to indulge themselves.

Sam had found, in the boys' department of all places, a set of bed sheets with bumblebees on them. Cas surveyed them delightedly.

"Can I get some of those, too?" Cas looked at Dean for approval, hoping that they were not too childish.

"Who do you think I got 'em for, Cas?" Sam said, smiling. Everyone had been nervous to see if Cas would freak out at the thought of actually needing to buy clothes, as it was sort of like admitting he was stuck as a human for a long period of time. But he took it in stride, eager to make Dean happy, and even chose Dean a funny pair of socks, which he hid under his clothes to present to him later. Everyone, even Crowley, was cheered up by the fallen angel's antics. They all wanted to find things that made him as happy as possible in his new existence.

"Cah-s, I found a Star Fleet shirt," he said, noting a sleek black sport coat with the silver Star Fleet insignia emblazoned on the front of it. It looked really comfortable. Cas immediately tried it on over his tee shirt.

It looked good on him. No, it looked really, really good on him, accentuating his toned arms and slender frame. Dean had a chance to look at the angel's body closely. And he was really, really turned on... Cas's arm muscles flexed as he adjusted the shirt, and he made a little humming noise in approval. He moved to take off the shirt, and it exposed a few inches of quietly toned abs.

In short, Cas had a really nice body.

_Dean, you're staring again_, he thought and forced himself to turn away. He was secretly pleased at his body's reaction to Cas's.

_Well, I'm attracted to his body as well as his personality, so at least that will not be an issue._

Then he began to worry about the sexual aspects of their potential relationship.

_Cas is so inexperienced with all of this. Will he even _want_ anything...physical? He is a human now, though, so maybe he'll get... urges._

_Dean. It's Cas. Stop it._

"Dean? You okay?" Charlie asked. She had seen him staring at Cas, watched his tongue flicker out over his lips at the sight of the fallen angel's body...

"Huh? Just fine. Peachy." Dean shook his head to clear it of the... interesting images that currently threatened to overtake him, most of them involving him and Cas in rather compromising situations.

Thank God for denim's concealing powers.

* * *

Dean decided to buy Cas a soda at the little in-store cafe area. He had enjoyed the Fanta slushie earlier, so Dean imagined he would like Mountain Dew. Charlie shooed them away as she checked out, knowing that Cas, by being his normal self, might raise some awkward questions.

"Try this," Dean urged, bringing the refillable cup back to Cas, who sat at the table studying a People magazine someone had left there.

"Dean, these Kardashians are disturbing," he said, drawing a deep chuckle from Dean. "Do they have some sort of obsession with the letter K?"

"I don't know, Cas," Dean admitted, sitting down across from him. "Do you think we should hunt them?"

"They are alarming. I do not believe they are one hundred percent human," Cas confided. "The oddly shaped eyebrows suggest that at least this Khloe Kardashian is part reptile."

Dean choked on his- Cas's- Mountain Dew.

"I would not be surprised, " he said. "Now try this. I think you will like it." Dean watched Cas bring the cup to his lips, waiting eagerly to see his reaction.

"This is a fantastic invention," Cas said, eyes wide, after having downed half of the glass. Dean smiled.

"I am glad you enjoyed it," he said. Cas finished the drink in silence, a look of utter concentration on his face.

"Um. There's free refills," Dean suggested.

Cas consumed more Mountain Dew than Dean had ever seen consumed in his entire life. Combined.

* * *

"I'm hungry," Kevin said again as they loaded their purchases into the cars.

"I'm not, I had a bunch of popcorn," Dean replied. Charlie, behind his back, fist-bumped Sam.

"I am simply fah-mished," Crowley said.

"Me three," Sam added.

"We should go grab some lunch. Are you coming, Cas?"

"No, I consumed copious amounts of a beverage entitled Mountain Dew."

"Copious," Dean snorted. "You practically drank a lake of Dew." Sam narrowed his eyes in a way that clearly meant you are making no sense, Dean.

"Why don't you guys head back and start dinner, and we can go grab a quick bite of pizza or something?" Charlie asked, as if the idea had just suddenly occurred to her.

"I guess," Dean said, shrugging.

"I hear Burgatory is a good restaurant," Crowley said, commandeering Charlie's front seat.

"They make killer shakes," Charlie confirmed. They piled into her car and drove off as if they were being tailed by a Red Bull-fueled Wendigo.

"Those guys are up to something fishy," Dean commented to Cas as they displeasure out of the shopping center.

* * *

Cas hadn't spoken since they pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes ago. He watched Dean watch the road, watched the road when Dean's eyes flickered in his direction. The tension was palpable, and Dean was sorely regretting not hanging around for dinner. He half expected a moment where he and Cas both reached for the radio simultaneously, like in the chick flicks. But Cas kept his hands folded neatly in his lap. The silence felt heavy somehow, like if he had been working on the underside of an elevated car and someone had clipped the suspension cables.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his slippery palms had trouble gripping the steering wheel effectively.

_Damn it Winchester, man up. You are _not_ a high school freshman with her first date or something._

Then, as he watched Cas inspect the double yellow line, the fallen man licked his chapped lips absently and Dean nearly swerved off the road.

_Fuck. I am _completely_ a high school freshman on her first date._

"Is there something wrong, Dean?" Cas looked at him, genuinely concerned. His gravelly voice made Dean's heart palpitate uncomfortably. He dug his nails into the steering column.

"Fine, Cas, just fine." Dean's voice came out deeper than usual. He felt like his throat had been lines with sandpaper. He cleared his throat, with absolutely no affect. "Fine. Absolutely, completely fine."

"I may be wrong," Cas replied after a good minute or two of consideration. "But I believe the fact that you had to re-state your fine-ness four times drives home the fact that you are not, indeed, fine."

Dean felt as if he had just dived into a swimming pool of steaming water. Heat cascaded over his crown, across his face, down over his chest, and through his spinal cord and pooled in his abdomen. Cas's voice, combined with the veiled implication he made, turned Dean on beyond belief. The road blurred as he felt his jeans becoming far too tight.

"I need to pull over for a moment," he choked out, not willing to meet Cas's eyes. He swayed onto the shoulder of the deserted road; sloppily at best, and closed his eyes.

_Deep breaths, Winchester. Snap the hell out if it._

Then Cas placed the inside of his wrist on Dean's forehead and he lost all ability to think, all ability to breathe, process the world around him. Cas's skin felt clammy.

"I have seen people gauge the temperature of other people by placing their hands or wrists on their foreheads. Dean, you are dangerously feverish. I worry for your health-"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean managed. He reached up and threw Cas's wrist off of him. He faintly registered Cas moving away, and chased away the thought of hurting his angel's feelings.

"Dean...

"You...

"Sick...

"Calling Sam."

"Don't."

"Must call."

"Not sick, Cas,"

"...sure?

"...pale."

Dean took a huge breath, fumbled with his seat belt for a moment before clicking it open, and grabbed a fist full of Cas's (his) shirt, pulling him closer and closer until they collided, the world outside of the Impala falling to pieces and realigning, scrambled, yet correct.

* * *

**Again I must apologize for the incoherency factor of this chapter. I mean that last sentence whut**

**Also, I'm really not sure whether I should add sex scenes to this chapter. Sometimes I get flamed for it and it makes me really uncomfortable (speaking of flaming I have ceased removing the flames). So tell me what you think and I shall duly take it in to consideration. **

**Sex or no sex, that is the question...**

** Oh, and thanks everyone for your reviews! they light up my life and urge me to go faster. Except for you, the conservative dick-wad who keeps telling me that being gay is a sin. I am an atheist. I do not care about your god's petty judgement.**

**Why the hell are you watching Supernatural if you are against gay individuals? And why the purgatory are you reading FAN FUCKING FICTION THIS SITE IS LITERALLY A RAMPANT FESTERING PETRI DISH OF TEH GHEY**

**and speaking of purgatory Burgatory is a (chain? I do not know) restaurant near where I live. Fucking delicious-ness, everyone. **

**Eat burgers, not gay people.**


	18. Domino Effect

**Wow. Not one person told me not to include sex. I should have guessed.**

**But, even though Cas and Dean just kissed, we all know that anything between them would be messy and awkward and altogether staggeringly slow. So no sex yet, but shit will hit the metaphoric fan in other ways.**

**Thanks everyone for the reviews! *sends hugs down through the internet to wherever you guys are***

* * *

Cas did not expect Dean to kiss him. He watched his friend become ill, feverish and flushed, and was concerned. He offered to call Sam, to call a team of emergency medical technicians, but Dean, stubborn as ever, refused.

He didn't know what to do for his friend, and being so helpless frightened him. What if Dean got injured on a hunt and Cas was still power-less?

_Wait, why is he moving- oh._

Dean's lips felt soft and warm against his own chapped ones, and he felt a rush of affection join with his confusion.

_Dean is ill, he does not know what he is doing-_

Dean caressed Cas's face with his hand, and all thoughts flew away like startled birds. The hunter moaned into the kiss, and Cas felt an alien heat build up in his chest and abdomen.

But the kiss was over as suddenly as it had begun, and as Dean pulled back sheepishly, Cas felt more alone than ever. They sat in an excruciatingly awkward silence, faces flushed, eyes everywhere but each other. Cas wanted to grip Dean's shoulders, to shake him, to demand an explanation.

_Did I do something wrong?_

_Why did he kiss me?_

_Why did he stop?_

_What do I say to him now?_

_What if he doesn't like me anymore? _

_What if he makes me leave?_

"Um," Dean said finally. "Sorry about that."

Cas's heart dropped.

_He doesn't like me, and now he is definitely going to make me go. He is going to kick me out of the bunker and I will have no place on Earth to go to._

_It's what you deserve, Castiel, _a nasty voice inside of his head insisted_. You wrecked Heaven and now you are homeless. What gives you the right to a home, a family, when you turned everyone out? The innocent angels might deserve a home, but you don't, you useless piece of-_

_You _human.

_You deserve this._

"I apologize, Dean," Cas finally said.

"No, it's not- don't- ugh," Dean said. He took a deep breath and started driving again.

_Now look what you did, you ass-butt. You ruin everything. You ruined the Winchesters. You ruined your garrison. You ruined Samandriel and Balthazar and so many others. You ruined Heaven._

_I ruined Dean._

Dean all but punched the stereo, causing a raucous tune to blast out. The music bothered Cas, but he didn't care. He welcomed the discomfort caused by the Coven of Blue Oysters or whatever the Hell they were called.

_I ruined Dean._

They didn't speak again all the way home.

* * *

As soon as the Impala slowed down enough, Cas jumped out and walked towards the door of the bunker. Dean felt like shit. Cas had seemed so startled that he had stopped as soon as he regained control of himself, and now his friend was jumpy and silent. Dean spent the remainder of the drive beating himself up.

_He's an angel, an innocent, naive, virgin angel, you can't just kiss him and expect everything to be all fine and dandy._

His fears had been confirmed when Cas had all but shut himself down. He was panicking internally, praying to whomever was listening now that Cas had fallen, praying that the angel didn't... whatever. Didn't hate him, didn't want to leave, didn't think that Dean was just trying to sleep with him.

Now, back at the bunker, Dean's heart fell as Cas practically dove out of the car and scrambled towards the entrance.

_Fuck. You broke it, Dean._

* * *

When the other four returned from lunch, they noticed that the bags were still sitting in the Impala.

"Maybe they were too busy to bring them in," Charlie hypothesized.

"Ew," Sam said. As much as he wanted his brother to be happy, there were some things he did not need to think about. Ever.

He didn't need to think about it long, however, because as soon as he had grabbed an armful of shopping bags there was a loud gunshot, and Crowley shouted in agony.

"Get down," Kevin said, tackling Charlie, pulling them both behind her car. Sam ducked behind the Impala as more shots rang out. He poked his head up briefly to look through the Impala's windows, trying to see where the shots were coming from.

They were humans, at least, human-looking. They were all shapes and sizes, and Sam was a little perturbed at the sight of an elderly lady wielding an assault rifle. They were coming out from behind the trees, surrounding the two cars, firing. A bullet shattered the Impala's left passenger window, and another was lodged in Charlie's back windshield. Sam shielded his head with the bag of cookbooks, knowing it wouldn't do much but slow the trajectory if a bullet came towards his head. He fumbled with his keys and opened the car, diving onto the floor under the backseat, panting heavily. Charlie and Kevin had shimmied under her car, and God only knew where Crowley went. Sam cursed himself for not carrying a weapon; but guns were frowned upon during shopping trips.

"What the hell?" Dean's voice sounded dimly behind the veil of whizzing bullets. One of the assailants shouted something to the other one something that sounded like a battle command.

_Damn it, that's Enochian._

"Dean, what's going- oh, my Father..." Cas had apparently joined them, and one of the angels shouted something. The assault slowed and one of the former angels jumped out of a tree.

"Castiel," said a deep voice.

"Aziel," Cas said tentatively.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" The bullets had stopped completely and Sam sat up slowly. Cas stood in the doorway, and Dean was in front of him, poised in a protective stance. On the other side of the car, Crowley was lying face-down, arm bleeding profusely.

"Greetings, Jeremiah, Azuniel, Dmitri, Sarakiel, Astrid," Castiel said in a brave voice, but Sam knew him well enough to recognize the falter. "How many are you?"

The angel in the elderly woman barked something in Enochian.

"You should know, Azuniel, that I have lost the ability to converse in our native tongue," Cas said. Sam's chest ached momentarily for his friend. He had fallen further than they had thought. Apparently, this was new information to Dean too; he glanced imploringly at Cas, clearly wanting to ask him why he hadn't said that before. Cas gave a minuscule shake of his head, signaling _not now._

"Azuniel was simply wondering why we didn't just kill you without any questions," an angel decked out in a teenage girl translated. She looked largely uncomfortable being there.

"Thank you, Sarakiel," Cas said genuinely. He walked out of the doorway, brushing off Dean who attempted to shield him again. "Further, my brothers, I invite you to shoot. I welcome death, for it is an opportunity to return home. Do you not think that I have contemplated doing so myself?" Dean looked horror-stricken.

"Cas-"

"Not now, Dean," Cas said, remaining eerily calm. He then turned to address the admittedly small assembly of heavenly Host. "Which do you think would be greater punishment: to experience a moment of physical agony and then be in my Heaven or to continue to suffer here on Earth, in a lifetime of emotional agony?"

Dean backed away, looking shell-shocked. He leaned against the wall, eyes wide at the implications that the fallen angel made.

"He's playing you, Aziel," said an attractive twenty-something with stubble enough to put Cas's growing beard to shame. He raised his pistol, aiming unwaveringly at Cas's head.

"Stand down, Dmitri," Aziel demanded gruffly.

"Shoot the elder Winchester," an angel suggested from above. Sam looked up and realized at least a half of a dozen angels were perched in trees, clutching sniper rifles. Suddenly, there were as many dancing red spots on Dean's forehead. Cas's eyes grew panicked briefly before he got a hold of himself and returned his face to its previous, emotion-neutral state.

"Ezekiel, state your intent," Aziel ordered. The angel who had just spoken crowed something in Enochian. Aziel considered for a moment and returned his gaze to the pair by the door.

"The greatest punishment would be for you to continue existing without that maggot-infested whore for whom you fell so low," he stated, voice slippery, gesturing towards Dean. He was obviously pleased at this notion.

In a gesture that he suspected wasn't entirely his own idea, Sam crossed himself, bringing his fingers from his head to his chest and then on either side of the second location. He had seen Catholic people do this, and it felt like a wordless cry to God, anything to save his brother and his friend. Dean's eyes were closed, and his lips moved in his own silent prayer.

But then, if God still cared, they would not be in this mess.

"No," Cas croaked. "The Righteous Man is no longer righteous. You would be removing a burden," he said. Dean stared, clearly more upset by Cas's words than the laser points dancing across his chest, neck and head. "I care for the brothers Winchester no longer. Dean," he said, hissing the name, "is a lowly, lice-infested annoyance. I wish I had left him in Azazel's hands."

"_Lies_," Ezekiel hissed. "Do you not remember the immense sacrifices that Castiel-" the name was hissed like a swear word- "made for that slug?"

Aziel seemed to have had enough of the talk. He accosted Cas, the hand not occupied by the pistol curling into a fist. Then, he ditched the gun, tossing it aside, where Azuniel caught it fluidly despite her elderly appearance. Aziel placed both hands on Cas's shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.

"Beg for your life, wingless scum," he growled.

"I refuse," Cas whispered insolently.

"BEG!"

"No."

Aziel slammed a fist into Cas's nose, eliciting a loud crunch. Cas closed his eyes, trrying not to sway from the dizzying pain. His nose began to gush blood, coursing down his face, over his lips, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

"WINGLESS WHORE!" Aziel bellowed. He gestured to Azuniel for his pistol, caught it without turning around. "BEG!" He slammed the butt of the pistol into Cas's head, directly behind his ear. That's a concussion, if he's lucky, Sam thought.

"I will not," Cas said calmly. "I refuse. Take my life, junk-less," he continued. Dean opened one eye at that. Sam wondered if he had missed something.

"I hope you are smote by God himself," Aziel hissed, seething. With another blow from the pistol, he sent Cas careening towards the ground, face in the gravel. He kicked Cas in the rib cage, earning another crack and a low grunt from Cas. He walked around to Cas's legs, scrutinizing them carefully. Blood from Cas's nose began to spread onto the gravel beneath him.

"No," Dean said.

Aziel brought his foot up and stomped, hard, on Cas's right foot. The bloodied angel shrieked inhumanely as the bones snapped. Dean let out a strangled yell and moved to comfort him, but was stopped short as another shot was fired. Blood blossomed in Aziel's chest, and he fell backwards, swaying. He was dead before he hit the ground, a look of malice eternally frozen on his face. Sarakiel stood behind him, gun raised, looking shocked at what she had just done. Ezekiel's gun whipped through the air and it was Sarakiel's turn to clutch at her chest.

"No," an angel, no, a young girl, shrieked, and ran foward, holding Sarakiel as she gasped for breath. "Sara. Sara, please," she whimpered, rocking her sister's broken body back and forth, singing quietly in Enochian. Sarakiel reached a hand upwards to gently ghost across the smaller angel's face, leaving a beautiful stripe of deep maroon across her pale cheek. Then, it fell limply by her side, and her head lolled back.

The child shrieked loudly, a heartbreaking howl that sent shivers through Sam's spine.

"Sarakiel," she whined plaintively, tears coursing down her face, mingling with her sister's blood. She stood up shakily, turning slowly to face Ezekiel in the trees.

"Astrid, Sarakiel was a traitor," Azuniel hissed at the young girl, who had her own gun trained, hand trembling, on Ezekiel. Astrid whipped around, aiming at Azuniel's grey-haired head.

"Brother, please calm down," the bearded angel known as Dmitri pleaded to Astrid.

Astrid pointed her gun once again at Ezekiel, but she looked less confident by the second. Sam's heart ached for her, as he knew perfectly well what Astrid was going through, having experienced it for himself all too many times.

"You killed Sara," she murmured softly, a coldness creeping into her voice. "I- I loved her," she said, voice breaking. "I was in love with her."

"That is blasphemous," Azuniel said. Without hesitation, she shot Astrid in the stomach, not a direct kill but one that would end her within a few minutes. Astrid sank to her knees, gazing plaintively at Cas, who had rolled over, helplessly watching the bloodbath unfold around him.

It wasn't a blame-filled, abhorring look, it was a look of shared sorrow. A look that was an apology and a letter of forgiveness all at once. With her free hand, Astrid held her wound.

Then, slowly, she raised her gun and aimed it at her throat.

"No," Sam murmured as the young girl shakily pulled the trigger.

A loud bang echoed around the clearing, and Astrid's body was sent flying backwards. Cas let out a choked sob, coughing as blood rushed into his mouth and down his throat.

Astrid's suicide spurred the angel Dmitri into action. He snapped Azuniel's neck, apologizing, and began climbing nimbly up Ezekiel's tree. The remaining angels watched from the trees, uninterfering, as he climbed, keeping opposite of Ezekiel so that he would not have a shot at him.

All too quickly, he reached the bough where Ezekiel sat. Ezekiel fumbled with his rifle, fear spread across his face.

His magazine was out of rounds.

"Sara and Astrid were in my garrison," Dmitri hissed. "You were too, Ezekiel, and I thought you were my friend," he said.

"Brother, I- I-" Ezekiel stuttered.

"SILENCE!" Dmitri roared. "You are no longer my brother."

He pulled a knife from a sheath in his pocket, driving it from the soft flesh of his throat to the crown of his head.

Sam felt sickened at this horrendous chain of events, desperate angels killing themselves and each other. He covered his eyes, hit with a wave of nausea.

Cas was choking on his blood by now, and Dean crawled over to him, setting him upright and hitting his back. Despite Cas's hurtful words from earlier, it was clear he still held the fallen angel in high regard. Cas sobbed, coughing and crying, blinded by the waves of pain shooting through his foot. He sank into Dean, allowing himself to be rocked in the same way Astrid had cradled Sarakiel until her death.

Sam waited, heart thudding, for some other angel to kill Dmitri. The angels had died as dominoes, crumbling one after the other, and it seemed that they would eliminate each other until only one remained. But nobody seemed to care much for Ezekiel, and they watched silently as their brother pushed Ezekiel from the tree limb, body thumping on the forest floor. Dmitri grasped the tree, hyperventilating, crying for his fallen sisters (brothers?) Sarakiel and Astrid.

Sam guessed it was safe to get out of the car, and he got up, swaying dizzily. His blood pressure had been dangerously low after the trials, and sudden movements were not his friend. Charlie and Kevin crawled out from under the car, surveying the damage and bloodshed. Kevin kicked Crowley roughly in the ribs in lieu of making sure he was okay, and the ex-demon grunted and rolled over. His gunshot wound had stopped bleeding, and Sam guessed that it was mostly superficial.

Then, one of the angels-turned-sniper muttered something in Enochian at his brother beside him in the tree, who nodded eagerly.

"Castiel. Aziel may have been willing to spare you," he said, "but I am next in charge after Azuniel and I am unwilling to do so." He aimed. Dean curled his body around Cas.

"No," he said quietly.

"Nolo quetus aberanth lacrimabat," Kevin chanted, raising his arm. The angels gazed at him, confused, and Sam watched as he continued uttering the words. His eyes glowed golden. "Portuus omni, nomini patruus, celestii erunt necrimabat!"

There was a strong gust of wind. The long-forgotten Target bags began to rustle violently, and the five remaining angels looked at each other. A golden mist filled the clearing, and the angels faded slowly from view.

"They're gone," Charlie said finally. Dean looked up, unfolding himself carefully. Then, he seemed to remember Cas's scathing remarks, and he bluntly dropped his friend, who grunted as his broken rib twinged painfully. The hunter wiped the blood on Cas's shirt and stalked back inside, shoulders drooping. Kevin collapsed, panting.

"Kevin, where the hell did that come from?" Sam asked. He had never heard the spell before in his life.

"I don't know, it just came to me," the young man said eventually. "I think it's Latin. And I have a feeling that it wasn't a spell before now."

Sam opened up his phone, typing a note to himself.

_nolo quetus aberanth lacrimabat portuus omni, nomini patruus, celestii erunt necrimabat_

An angel-banishing spell was always handy.

"Why didn't it send away Cas?" Charlie wondered.

"Or him?" Crowley added, pointing to Dmitri, who was still perched in the tree, with his good arm.

Cas tried to speak, but he choked, coughing out blood. Charlie took over where Dean left off.

"Hey Kev, will you grab me one of those ginger ales, man? You rock," she said as she thumped Cas's back. She held up the sleeve of her cardigan to mop up the blood so no more would go down his throat. Cas searched her face, clearly wondering why she was being so nice to him.

"Here you go," Kevin said, handing a can of Canada Dry to Charlie. They'd stopped for some groceries on the way home.

"Maybe you only sent away the ones you believed to be dangerous," Sam theorized, watching Dmitri cry and clutch the tree.

"That makes sense," Kevin agreed. "Being a prophet has its perks," he said, not sarcastically.

"You're practically a Disney princess. Drink up, sweetheart," Charlie said, opening the can of soda and gently tipping some into Cas's mouth once most of the blood was cleared away. He guided it to his lips, sipping tentatively, then gulping it down when he didn't choke.

"Your name is Dmitri, right?" Sam asked the man in the tree.

"Yes, that is what my brothers call me," he responded, nodding.

"Want a ham sandwich, Dmitri?" Charlie called.

"No, thank you, kindly human, I shall be on my way." Dmitri began to climb nimbly down the tree.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"If I could have the direction to the nearest Inter State, I can be out of your skin." Sam smiled a bit. He found it amusing when angels mixed up common phrases such as _out of your hair _and _under your skin_.

"It's that way," Kevin said. Dmitri began to walk.

"Fare thee well, Castiel, and watch yourself."

Cas finally ceased coughing and motioned for Charlie to help him stand. Blood covered the lower half of his face, and he had a nasty purple bruise forming across his neck. Dean's shirt was drenched in red stains, and there was quite a bit on his pants as well.

Cas somehow managed to stand up on his own, despite the look of immense pain that flickered over his face.

"Sam, can you get me a shovel?" Cas asked, masking the agony that shot through his leg.

"Cas, you need to see a doctor," Charlie urged.

"Sam, shovel," he repeated, reminding Sam of the days when Cas was something to be feared instead of a loyal friend.

Sam went inside to retrieve the shovel, passing Dean's room where the door was shut tight, music blaring. _He must have taken Cas's words harder than I thought_, Sam mused.

Returning several minutes later with the shovel, he saw that Kevin and Crowley had gone inside, and Charlie was attempting to coax Cas into her car.

"I am not going to allow myself the luxury of a doctor until my brothers are buried," he was insisting as Sam came back out.

"Cas, you're going to do more damage this way," Charlie said. Sam put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head, silently directing her to go inside. She shot him an are you sure glance before grabbing the perishables and heading in.

"Shovel," Sam said simply. He knew that there would be no stopping Cas once he got an idea in his head, and that it would be better for him to learn these things from experience. He grabbed a few bags from the Impala and shut the door, put away the purchases, and grabbed a beer, giving Cas a minute or two to convince himself that he was alone. Then, he went back outside and watched silently as Cas dug a grave for Sarakiel and Astrid.

The fallen angel leaned heavily on his good leg, cries of pain escaping once or twice every few minutes. He swayed a few times, and Sam was almost ready to call an ambulance, but the stubborn man kept at it for hours. Finally, he had cleared out a four foot deep grave, four feet by six feet, and when he moved to bring over the angels' bodies, he passed out, falling to the ground with the look of a man who had lost all hope.

* * *

**We all know that sooner or later some bitchy, P M S ing angels will come for Cas. Also, it's a bit odd how Crowley healed so quickly...**

**Bum bum bum. Stay tuned to find out whether Cas prefers to drink Canada Dry, Fanta slushies, or Mountain Dew, on the next episode of... *fanfare* All The King's Men!**

(disclaimer: we may not find out Cas's drink preferences next chapter. Some restrictions apply. See store for details. Side affects may include, but are not limited to, nausea, vertigo, dizziness, fainting, seizures, dramatic increase in blood pressure, erectile dysfunction, infertility, ingrown toenails, pancreatic cancer, death, or vomiting.)


	19. Hurt

**I literally cannot stop thinking about this story. It is taking over my thoughts, my actions, my entire fucking life. Yipe. Crikey. Fie. **

**Also, I have been informed that All The King's Men is some sort of cross-dressing, drag-wearing, gay acting troupe that does all sorts of slightly-above-PG-ish things. I, of course, couldn't leave it well enough alone, and I had to check the magical Google for further intel.**

**Yikes.**

**I promise, the name does have relevance to the story, and it is not a whole bunch of male dancers. Pinkie Pie Promise. (Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye).**

**We'll get to the title soon.**

**Ish.**

**Soon ish.**

* * *

Sam rushed out to where Cas had collapsed by the grave. He considered calling Dean out to come help, but Dean was apparently mad at Cas. Besides, the fallen angel had been steadily losing weight. If a teenager had adopted his eating patterns, they would be admitted to the hospital for an eating disorder. Even in his weakened state, Sam picked up the fallen man with ease, careful not to disturb his broken rib. He buckled Cas into the Impala, rolling down all the windows so that the broken window wasn't painfully obvious. He sent a quick text to Charlie, Kevin, and after a brief hesitation, Dean.

_taking cas 2 hospital, may be a while_

_sam_

He didn't realize how late it was until he noticed the orange hues seeping into the sky. Cas whimpered softly with every breath.

Something about caring for the fallen angel made Sam sad. Maybe it was seeing the mighty, powerful being reduced to a bloody, skinny mess. Maybe it was the feeling that it should be Dean taking him to the hospital, not Sam. Maybe it was the fact that he needed a hospital in the first place.

"You're going to be okay, buddy," Sam assured the sleeping lump of fallen angel.

* * *

Sam left Cas in the car as he went into the lobby of the hospital's emergency room. Pushing past a bored looking teenager with a torn suture on his forehead, he made his way to the registration.

"Excuse me, ma'am, my- I have a man in my car, he's unconscious, I need help," he said, panting slightly. The woman watched him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to believe him, but pressed a button on the intercom and ordered a stretcher down the the parking lot.

"Where are you parked, son?"

"Uh, seven-B. It's a sixty-seven Chevy Impala, black, windows down, license plate number-"

"Okay, sweetheart, calm down. They've found it. They're loading him up now. Sam sighed in relief. Hospital visits had always been a result of ambulance rides or a conscious brother walking in of his own volition. He had been playing by ear.

"Thank you," he said, grasping the woman's hand and shaking it heartily.

"All right, dear, just sit down over in that booth and Marin will be in with the paperwork."

Sam froze.

Paperwork.

Did he pull out Jimmy Novak's identification cards, or had he been reported missing or presumed dead? What if he said that he had just found him on the street? But what if they didn't let him go home?

Sam grabbed his cell phone, nodding to the woman, and walked over to the booth. He dialed Dean's number.

"You had_ better_ be dying, Sammy," Dean said, picking up in the middle of the first ring. That wasn't like Dean...

"It's Cas, Dean."

Silence.

"Fuck," Dean said eventually.

"He's gonna be okay, but-"

"Good. I don't care. Bye."

Dean hung up. Sam swore loudly, earning a disgraced look from a mother of a toddler girl.

"Mommy, mommy, what does 'fuck' mean?" Sam cringed, but the girl was not his problem right now. He sort of wished she was; she seemed more mature than Dean at the present moment.

He tried again, willing Dean to hear him out.

"Dean, I-"

"Sam, I don't care about what happens to Cas. Cut his damn foot off."

"Dean, just- just hear me out," Sam pleaded, shocked at his brother's behavior.

"You have thirty seconds. Twenty nine. Twenty eight. Twenty seven-"

"Yes, yes, all right, got it. Dean, what are our current aliases? They're gonna need some I. D. soon," he asked.

"I am Marcus Pendragon and you are his half-brother, Luke Cervine," Sam said.

"Pendragon? Seriously?"

"Shut up. I was watching something about Lancelot or whatever."

"Okay. Thanks. Can you send me a picture of the Social Security numbers?"

"Yeah." Dean hung up.

"See you, too," Sam said, rolling his eyes. His phone beeped with the images a few seconds later.

"Um, Mister...?" A voice sounded behind him. Sam whipped around, startled.

"Marin?"

Marin stared.

"Sam Winchester?"

* * *

Dean put away his wallet, tossing it across the room petulantly. The CD currently playing full blast began to skip, and he shot the radio with his handgun. The music stopped and he tossed his gun on the floor to join the wallet and fake I. D.

He relayed the day's events in his mind, starting when he woke up in Cas's bed. It seemed like ages ago now. Then, dodging people's questions and implications, eating breakfast, getting ready to go to Star Trek. Buying Cas the drinks, waiting for his approval like a little kid giving his mom some wildflowers for Mother's Day. Shopping, watching his delight at the bee sheets and the Star Fleet jacket, taking in the sight of his body in the clothing section.

Taking Cas home in the Impala and getting immensely turned on for no good reason; feeling wired just by his presence.

Kissing him.

Oh God, that had felt so good; taking four and a half years- four and a half years- worth of tension and flushing it away, finally tasting his angel's lips on his.

Then, the regret that followed. Cas had acted so out-of-sorts, and then he had tried to apologize- why the fuck does Cas apologize so much?

At the bunker, Cas all but diving out of the car, clearly wanting to get as far away from him as possible. Retreating to their bedrooms, Dean listening at the wall to make sure that Cas wasn't packing.

Finally, the gun shots and the shouts, and everything was simple again. Dean Winchester was not made for feelings; he was made for fighting and battles, pissed-off creatures and idiotic refusals to comply.

Cas had learned that from the best.

Rushing forward to protect Cas from Ass-iel or whatever that BASTARD's name was.

And then, Cas had said those things. Said that he didn't want Dean, that he was a lice-ridden burden, that he wanted to leave him in Hell.

That had stung, especially after the ill-received kiss off the interstate.

After that, it was all angels shooting each other and Ass-hat-iel breaking Cas's foot. Then, it was over, and he went to his room, where he still was now.

He knew things had been awkward around the fallen angel, but he had simply chalked it up to romantic-slash-sexual-slash-brotherly-slash-whatev er tension, not to Cas wanting to leave.

His worst fears were coming true. Cas, shrugging him off like a moth-eaten, ill-fitting, out-of-style fur coat.

Cas, human, binge drinking.

Cas, human, breaking his foot.

Cas, human, giving up on life. Giving up on Dean. Giving up on himself.

_Whatever you do, whatever choices you make, you will always end up her_e, a long-forgotten whisper reminded him.

Dean went to the kitchen for a bottle of whisky, not bothering with a glass, and downed it all without even sitting down. For dessert, he grabbed three beers and headed back to his room.

Tonight is going to be a long night, he thought, curling up in bed, subconsciously yearning for another warm body to lean into.

* * *

**Maybe those two have more in common with All The King's Men, the drag-wearing dance troupe, than they would like to admit. Gayness. Yes. Gayness. Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay. Gay point oh x 10^1249329520. Gayer than George Takei and Zachary Quinto and Harvey Milk and just possibly my gay friend Jacob.**

**Did someone slip something into my drink while I was not looking or something? Because I just gay. **


	20. Familiar Faces

**Holy angst, Batman. You have been warned.**

* * *

"Oh my god, it's been ages!" Marin said, forgetting the paperwork in her hands.

"You look really well!" Sam said, smiling.

"So do you. I guess you finally got some sleep?" Sam chuckled. It had been what felt like eons since Lucifer had been infiltrating his mind. He had met Marin in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. She had taken pity on Sam and befriended him, and he in turn helped her get rid of the malevolent spirit of her brother who had been haunting her via a bloodied bracelet.

"Yeah, yeah, Lucifer's long gone," he said. "How have you been?"

"The brother thing-" she gesticulated as she searched for the right words. "The medication finally started affecting me once that all cleared up. I was released three weeks after you," she finished.

"I'm really glad to hear that," Sam said. "What brings you, well, here?"

"It was really strange, actually. I had been working as a nurse for a while- on the pediatric ward of the very same hospital we were in. Then, out of nowhere, I get a promotion to come here. Apparently a job was just vacated and I got a recommendation from some rich guy whose son was in the cancer ward for a while. I don't even remember the guy." She took a seat across the table from Sam.

"Huh. What an odd coincidence," Sam said.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Oh. Um, my friend, Cas, is severely injured. He got into a bit of a- well, remember how my brother and I fought ghosts and stuff? Cas does that with us and he's in a bit of pain."

"Funny. There was a guy named Cas- Cassiel-"

"Castiel?" Sam said.

"Yeah. Right after you left with your brother." Marin seemed to have good memories of him, and she smiled. "I liked him. He was a bit..."

"Uncanny?" Sam suggested.

"Yeah, but he was fun. Real good Apples to Apples player. One time, the word was '_attractive_'and he put down-"

"Marin?" The woman from the desk poked her head in. "Is there a problem with the paperwork?"

"Uh, no, just, uh- I'm all finished here. Sam, we should really stop meeting up in hospitals," she joked, and grabbed his phone, finding the number and writing it on her palm. Then, in a whirlwind of red hair, she had returned to her job and Sam was left a little shell-shocked. It was always odd in his line of work to see someone again.

* * *

"Mr... Cervine?" A doctor glanced at his paperwork. "Are you Mr. Pendragon's emergency contact?"

"Wha- Oh, um, yeah, that's me," Sam said, stifling a yawn. It was about two in the morning. Cas had damaged his foot so badly that it had needed emergency orthopedic surgery to repair some of the bones. Sam knew that there were tons of little bones in the foot, and he had been shown Cas's X-ray images. Sam, who had been to Hell and back, in the most literal sense possible, knew the sort of pain Cas must be going through and urged the doctors to do whatever they had to do to help the poor man.

"His surgery is complete, but he'll be in the hospital for another few days. He won't be out of the anesthisia iuntill tomorrow morning though, so I would go home if I were you," the doctor advised.

"Uh, no, I can't just leave him. He's..." Sam searched for a reason. "He's autistic, and he gets very distraught without familiar faces." Sam pulled on one of what Dean called his puppy-dog faces. The doctor nodded knowingly.

"My grand-daughter is autistic. I understand. I'm normally not supposed to do this, but the other bed in his room is unoccupied, and since you are family, you are allowed to be in there. Get some sleep, son, and if one of the nurses tries to kick you out tell them that Doctor Alston let you. It won't be the comfiest..." Sam smiled inwardly. Compared to some of the other places he had slept, a hospital bed was practically luxurious.

"Thank you so much," Sam said. "I really appreciate it." The doctor shook his hand and pointed to the ward where Cas was. Sam wanted to curl up right away, but Charlie had ordered him via text to call Dean with any updates. Right now, he didn't care if he woke his brother up, he just wanted to get it over with.

"Is Cas dying?" Dean asked gruffly, picking up on the first ring yet again.

"No, he's going to be fine, Dean, but wait a sec before you hang up."

"I hope he is in a lot of pain," Dean slurred.

"Are you- Dean, are you drunk?" Sam asked.

"Does the pope shit in the woods?"

"It's 'is the pope Cath'- oh, never mind. I just thought you should now that he got injured pretty badly, and he'll probably be in the hospital for a few days so that they can monitor him."

"Why do you think I care?" Dean slurred, blending the words together so that only someone as well-versed in speaking to drunken hunters would be able to understand him. Luckily, Sam was quite fluent.

"Dean. I know you care about him. I'm not staying here the whole time, so you're going to haul ass up here in a day or so so that you can bring him home."

"'M not driving that bastard anywhere," Dean said loudly. "I loved him and then- and then he pulls this. Good night, Sam," he said. "I am turning my phone off so don't try to call me. And the door's locked so don't call Charlie either. Tell Cassy that I said he can go fuck himself."

Dean hung up, and Sam was met with the dial tone. He closed the cell phone, quietly furious at his brother.

_Can't he see that Cas was only trying to keep him from harm?_

He shook his head, feeling sorry for Cas, and yeah, a little sorry for his older/younger brother, and curled up in the hospital bed. It was about a half of a foot too short for him, but he fell asleep quickly, the slumber spreading like a black cloud across his consciousness, burying him from sight.

* * *

Dean woke up at about one in the afternoon, with a massive headache and an even larger dose of guilt. It was never a good sign when he struggled to remember why he wasn't in a motel room.

It was not going to be a good day, and he hadn't even remembered Cas yet.

He stumbled to the bathroom, feeling dizzy and sore. He used the toilet, washed his hands and wandered out into the main room, grabbing his bathrobe on the way.

"You are in trouble, young man," Crowley said.

Crowley, Kevin, and Charlie were all sitting around the table, looking majorly pissed.

_Shit. What have I done this time?_

"I'm going to go do some laundry," Kevin said, scurrying off to the bowels of the Bat-cave.

"What is this, guys?" Dean asked, slightly afraid of the answer. He skipped the fresh quiche Crowley had just made in favor of a cold beer. He had a feeling he would need it.

"We're staging an intervention," Crowley said.

"Go to Hell, Crowley. You don't get to stage nothing, all right?"

"Dean," Charlie said, looking nervous and saddened. Dean scowled. She was playing up his weaknesses. She knew that he would be forced to listen to her no matter what Crowley said.

"Make it straight to the point," he said finally.

"One. Your drinking."

Dean scoffed.

"To hell with my drinking. You would drink too if you were me."

Charlie stepped on Crowley's foot.

"We're not here to talk about that, Dean," she corrected, sending Crowley a watch-yourself look.

Dean took a deep breath and drank his beer. _Maybe they have a point with the alcohol._

"It's Cas, Dean."

Dean's stomach bottomed out without his consent. He read their faces, Charlie looking sad and anxious as hell, Crowley just gazing at him with pity.

_He does not get to pity me. Charlie, sure, but never him._

"What happened?" Dean asked numbly, dreading the answer. "Where is he? Where is Sam?"

"Sam's crashing at the house of some girl he met a few years ago," Charlie informed him. She shared a glance with Crowley, a look that clearly meant no-you-tell-him.

"And Cas?" Dean's heart was thudding in his chest. The events of yesterday were slowly parading back through his mind, followed up by dozens of awful ideas.

_Cas killed himself._

_An angel killed him._

_An angel took him._

_Car crash._

_Lung cancer._

Neither person answered him.

"Where is Cas?" Dean tried again.

"Dean..."

"TELL ME!" Dean roared, surprising even himself. He could never forgive himself if Cas had died, either at his own hand or at the hand of some bitch from upstairs. He should have been there, should have saved Cas from getting his foot broken, should have driven him to the hospital, should have fixed this.

"Cas is missing," Crowley finally said.

Dean stood up, vaguely aware of the chair behind him clattering to the floor. The beer bottle somehow collided with the ground, and a dissociated smashing noise followed, his arm moving somewhere between a drop and a weak toss.

"Missing," he echoed dully.

"He has nine broken bones in his foot, he just got out of surgery, he's doped up and in a cast, and he ran away," Charlie said, knowing not to withhold information. "He's supposed to be laid up for two months, and he's wandering around the city. He took his Vicodin with him."

Sentences and phrases collided in Dean's head, tripping over themselves in a sick, twisted parody.

_Broken foot._

_Laid up for two months._

_Vicodin._

_Doped up._

_Are you stoned?_

_Generally, yeah._

_Nine bones, laid up for two months._

_Cas is missing._

_No, it's not, don't._

_Freudian slip._

_No matter what choices you make, you will always end up here._

Dean laughed, a dry, humorless, bitter sound that slipped from his lungs. Once he started, he couldn't stop laughing, chest aching and the ruthless irony hitting him like a freight train hits a squirrel.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"Six months to twenty-fourteen," Dean said, and let out a choked sob.

You will always end up here.

* * *

**Here. Have some ice cream to take away your pain. I can't even get over this chapter myself and I wrote it. Good luck. I am a Moffat in training.**

**My birthday is next Sunday, and what do I get? A surgery on Wednesday. Whoop-dee-fucking-do.**

**Good thing I have my story and all of its lovely readers to cheer me up.**

**Also, happy birthday, Zachary Quinto! You is thirty-six. I is almost sixteen. Yay. Sixes are nice. I like even numbers. Yes, even numbers are good. Stupid obsessive compulsive disorder. **

**Think even numbers, everyone!**


	21. Broken Bones

**Author's note: OANf Agoaeoi N{OIN gnJNF OGNERAGIN ngrjnrskjgn soianoinl JNoanjA kjAkjnoNOAnjnaodn adjngwjegbjrgbjr jsbgoqeqbg oienOInoeing JBNON G WKE GWkjBKJBG SKJBG JNBjJGSNRJG JGNljnjnjnjnkjdnjgs osngsgn onsgnigr sbgo srnogpwritu gnhieropaf kgbb gqwer g jtg w4 tg4wtjrg'ja 5eaw ae5g erg keajhgrjgb aekbvjnrbb kketnabb asinfgha erngaeo[h 3j5ng;wke gkwje tg;ikw3j 5ij q3ijgh iqj qike h qkje hkr hkrh kej kejqejnf ajfngoie35 a;kjhre jebnh jKN;KAJRNHE A;KRJH; kjahkeh-aeith-ieath-aerihb iehr erbge ghj hj k j jhjh;h ;jhhjhjhjh; ; h; j ;jhbiub.**

* * *

"Hey, thanks again for letting me crash at your place," Sam said as Marin offered him a bowl of cereal.

"No problem. I remember how Cas was kind of flighty, and if he's really some sort of fallen angel, then he's probably really disoriented. I still owe you one for clearing up my ghost problem."

"Oh, that was nothing, really. My brother and I do that sort of thing all the time."

"But this is big. Something's got you worried," Marin guessed.

Soon, Sam found himself spilling everything to her, from the moment his mother died on the top of his nursery, his ill-fated childhood and time at Stanford, and their crazy trek to track down John. He touched over everything from opening Hell, trading souls, taking down Azazel. Flipping the on switch of the Apocalypse, getting tangled up in the angels-versus-angels mess, stapling the world back together, getting worn by Lucifer, losing his soul. Opening Purgatory. Cas letting out the Leviathans in his urgency to defeat Raphael, spending the better part of a year trying to kill Dick Roman and his cronies. His voice shook a bit as he described the time Dean and Cas in Purgatory and the angel's reluctance to get out. He recounted all of their troubles with Crowley, with his demons. He told her about the Men of Letters, about his noble grandfather and his not-so-noble grandfather. He talked angels and Leviathans, ghost hunts and Ghostfacers. Finally, he explained the tablets, Kevin, and the trials, how he'd spent months completing these impossible tasks only to let it all slip away at the end. He expressed his never-ending frustration that he hadn't just stuck his hand across Crowley's face and allowed himself to die.

"I think of all the people who have already died since I let it go, and I can't help blaming myself for every single one. I just wish Dean had let me die, let me save everyone. Every death is on me now."

To finish it off, he explained the garbled version of the angel trials that Cas had gone through. How Metatron's betrayal had cast all the angels down to Earth and Cas was practically suicidal. Then, the battle in front of the bunker and Cas's broken foot.

"I don't know how he's doing, he really only ever talks to Dean," he said finally. "But I'm worried about both of them. Dean is being really, really spiteful. They were practically on the verge of picking out curtains and stuff together, and now this. Dean deserves him, they both deserve to be happy, but the stupid bastards keep ruining it for themselves!"

"Whoah," Marin said after Sam had finished his lengthy monologue. "That's quite the tale."

Sam angrily poured himself a bowl of cereal and chewed spitefully.

"I hate my life," he allowed.

* * *

The search for Cas was difficult even to think about. They couldn't file a missing person's report, as he wasn't a person. His alias was already under scrutiny, when the Social Security number they had used turned out to be that of an eight-year-old girl living in San Francisco The local police were already in over their heads dealing with brand new people, luckily, so Sam and Cas weren't under too much pressure. Still, he couldn't continue to be Luke Cervine. Sam, with some help from Marin, hacked into the computer's security footage. Cas had been surprisingly normal-looking, putting on his jeans and stealing a button-down from the surgeon's changing rooms. He adapted to the crutches surprisingly well. Sam watched, impressed, as the footage showed Cas flirting his way past the nurses' station. He walked out of the lobby, and the footage ended.

"Well, if you were Cas, where would you go?"

"I don't know. He's like a wise old man in some ways and a cranky toddler in most others."

"Take a guess."

"He isn't going back home, that's for sure, not after what happened. Maybe we should check the local zoos and stuff."

* * *

It was late afternoon and they had had no luck finding Cas. They had checked the zoo, the aviary, the aquarium, the local police stations and bars. Marin called in a family emergency, and another nurse owed her a favor, so she was free for the evening. They stopped at a McDonald's for a quick dinner. Sam wolfed down his burger and called Charlie to check in.

"Hey, Sam, any luck?" Despite only having known Cas for a few days, Charlie had taken a liking to the poor guy. There was something about the Winchesters and choosing lost puppies for friends, and lost puppies clung together.

"No, I was just calling to see if you guys have found anything." Charlie had been checking footage from the bunker, calling places pretending to be a police dispatcher.

"I got a visual about two minutes ago of a guy in crutches hailing a taxi."

"Where?" Sam asked, hopeful.

"Seventh Street and Land-view."

"We're at the fast food place about two minutes from there."

"Where d'you think he'd be heading?" Charlie asked. Sam heard shouting in the background.

"Uh, is everything okay over there, Charlie?"

"Oh, it's just Dean. He makes a Leviathan look docile when he's worried."

"Really?" Sam was amused for a second. "He usually just gets all abrasive."

"He really cares for the guy, and he won't calm down."

"Dean, put down the god damn- OW!" Sam heard from the background.

"Fuck off, man," Dean shouted.

"I got to go. Find him," Charlie said, hanging up.

* * *

"Cas." Dean was quite drunk. Crowley had finally shut him in his bedroom, and he didn't really care where he was. He collapsed on the bed, speaking to an empty room.

"Cas, I know this is kind of pointless and stupid 'cause you can't hear me anymore, now that your stupid feathery ass ain't so feathery anymore.

"You are a stupid son of a bitch, you know that? I shut down my walls for a little bit to let you in and you go and break your damn foot and you hurt my fucking feelings and then you left, you stupid asshole.

"I don't let just anyone in, Cas, and I've fallen for you. So why the fuck aren't you catching me?"

Dean huffed and rolled over.

"Get your dumb ass back here. That is an order."

* * *

Cas got out of the cab, thanking the driver, swaying slightly on his non-cast foot. It was ironic, sleeping in a motel alone. He chuckled dryly to himself. It was a very Winchester thing to do, run off and hide in a crappy inn. Funny that the Winchesters were who he was running from. Well, not so much Sam, or any of the other surrogate Winchesters, but Dean. Things were funny on these 'drug' things. Cas liked them, despite the taboo on them and their users.

He walked (limped?) up to the front desk.

"I need a room."

"Most people coming here do."

"Also, do you have a phone? There's someone I need to call."


	22. Lost And Found

**Author's note: I feel like I owe my lovely readership a collective apology for that evil last chapter. I'm anxious about my surgery. Can you tell? That chapter was crap, so I strapped on my writing boots for this one. (Writing boots, you ask? Like riding boots, only for writing with! I am a bona fide creative genius. Yes.) I am pretty certain that writing boots are chunky utility boots, like with giant leather straps and stuff that are uncomfortable yet warm and you can never remove them.**

**A bit like the Supernatural fandom, no...?**

**Any-hoo, you all get a pair of writing boots as your prize for sticking with me thus far and ignoring my weird inconsistencies. **

* * *

Things didn't happen the way they do in movies to the Winchesters. There were no perfect coincidences, no spilling their coffee down the shirt of an attractive stranger, nobody rushing through the halls of the airport to get to your flight before they leave. There was a lot of death, a lot of drinking, and a lot of putting off the inevitable, with some battles in between. There were no wedding receptions with teary-eyed bridesmaids, no small children getting their training wheels off, no kisses in the rain or at midnight on New Year's or beneath fireworks on a summer evening.

That shit didn't happen, especially not to Dean.

He loses everyone and everything, he holds dear to him. Mother, father, brothers, lovers, friends, family. Mary, John, Cas, Lisa, Ben, Sam, Adam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Anna, Benny, Henry, hell, he was even starting to like Meg. He had lived for months thinking Sammy was gone for good, and he still can't sleep from the guilt whenever he thinks of Adam, infinitely worse off than Sam and wholly forgotten in the midst of, well, everything. Cas, who let go of his hand in Purgatory.

Cas, whose absence was currently weighing down on him as if he had been chained to a boulder and tossed into the Arctic Ocean.

His life sucked _wicked_ ass.

Cas's life wasn't a pretty picture either. A soldier, built to follow orders and to worship God, stationed with his garrison. Orders, orders, orders, until he was ordered to rescue Dean. Then, slowly, he began to unravel like a threadbare sweater caught on a cat's sharpened, indifferent claw. Dean was the catalyst; he fought against his brothers, killing countless amounts of them and weathering storm after storm after bloody storm. Burned wings never left his mind since he killed for the first time, but they became blurry and universal. He couldn't count how much blood was on his hands. He would have a better shot guessing the atoms of water in a lake or the amount of Canadian geese with a certain color of feathers.

Cas had not a single individual left who he hadn't betrayed.

If either man's story was to be a movie, or a book, or a play, it would rank up there with the tales of Sophocles and Aeschylus, performed in Greek for crowds of thousands, epic stories of betrayal, guilt, bloodshed, and power-lust. Dean could rival Hamlet in his ultimately futile quest for...what? Closure? Answers? Revenge?

A comedy would be a relief. Hell, even a drama. A super-hero flick. Maybe, with the level of bizarre-ness that surrounded them, a Neil Gaiman novel. An episode of The Twilight Zone.

But that wasn't fated to be. Dean, Cas, and anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with either, where caught up in a torrent of misery and awfulness, where coincidences and picket fences were myths as strange as Dr. Seuss's works.

So when Dean finished praying uselessly to Cas, he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that nothing would happen.

Until the phone rang.

* * *

"Sam?"

"Uh, no," Marin answered. Sam was in the bathroom. "He can't come to the phone right now. Is this Charlie?"

"Excuse me, who's speaking?"

"I'm with Sam. I knew Cas. He's in the bathroom right now. Sam, I mean, not Cas-"

"Well, tell him false alarm. Cas called Dean about an hour ago and the son of a bitch didn't think to tell us. He's safe and sound. Well, not dead or dying, which, seeing as he's associated with the Winchesters, is the equivalent of safe and sound."

Marin laughed. She liked this Charlie.

"Sam will be glad to know. He's been worried sick. So, I heard about you and Dick Roman. Thanks for saving the world."

"What will I be glad to know?" Sam asked, joining Marin.

"Cas is fine," she said, enjoying the look of relief on his face. She handed him the phone and Charlie filled him in.

"Well, tell Dean that I'm going to murder him."

"Don't worry. I already took care of it."

"Thanks, Charlie, you're the best."

"I know."

* * *

After hanging up with Sam, Charlie woman-handled Dean into her room to talk.

"Spill it, Dean. What's going on?"

"Cas is at a hotel forty-eight miles from here." Dean played with the hem of his shirt.

"And...?" Charlie pushed down the overwhelming desire to roll her eyes.

"And he's not dead."

"And?" Charlie demanded.

"And we're single-handedly overturning the marriage laws in this country and having a beach wedding and making dozens of cute little mini angel-humans," Dean said seriously. "They'll have one blue eye and one green."

"What, really?" Charlie asked.

"No. Sam's picking him up on his way home. I just got a call from him."

"Okay. And the rest?" Charlie prompted.

Dean quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what she was implying.

"What happened while we were at lunch," she clarified.

"I said... some things. More importantly, I didn't say some things."

"You're going to fix this as soon as he gets home."

"But-" Dean interjected.

"No buts. His room is nicer than mine, so I expect him to be nested safely in your room by the end of the week."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as soon as he realized that he wanted that too, no matter what Cas had said to Ass-hat-iel.

He was still pretty damn pissed, though.

* * *

**Hope that helped a little? **

**I bet you guys are growing weary of the writing boots. I bet you would rather trade them in for a nice pair of Converse.**

**Too bad!**


	23. Mister A to Z

**Hey guys. It's currently 0004 on the American East Coast. That's twelve-oh-four. I cannot stop my fingers. They are like little hell-demons. Oh, happy Tuesday. (HEEEE-EE-EEAT OF THE MO-OH-OH-MENT). It's also my mother's birthday and I cannot stop Destiel-ing. So here. Happy Tuesday. May it not be an eternal hell of repeated deaths of your siblings. I do not like that, Sam-I-Am.**

* * *

_"Is this Dean?"_

Dean curled up under the covers. It wasn't out of comfort, or happiness, but more tightening up into a small ball to cast out the world. A small ball ingrained into his muscle memory from countless nights catching some flightly Zs in the back of the Impala or curling up on the couch of some motel room, freezing cold and uncomfortable and unable to sleep. He had left Charlie's room, mind in turmoil. He could write a children's A-to-Z book on the myriad of emotions that shouted and fought each other inside his head.

A for anger. Anger that Cas had said... those things. Anger that Cas was so close to becoming that man from that hellish nightmare. Years ago, yet so threateningly close.

B for bitterness. Bitter at everyone and everything. Bitter at Azazel, though he was not aware of it. C for callous. D for Defeated.

That was the biggie, the hundred-dollar-winner.

Dean Winchester felt wholly, unbearably defeated. Defeated and scared and all of their nasty, emo band-mates.

He had failed Cas, failed Sam, failed the entire fucking universe.

So he allowed himself to play back his conversation earlier, paging through the alphabet to H.

Hopeful.

_"Is this Dean?"_

_"Cas? Oh, my god, are you okay?" Dean's heart lifted before dropping again, a stupid plunge that hit him with whiplash._

_"I am..." There was a long pause while Cas searched his drug-riddled mind for the right words. He had an extensive vocabulary but it seemed to be out of batteries._

_"Cas?"_

_"I am alive," Cas said finally._

_That spoke volumes for Dean. Cas wouldn't- _couldn't_- sugarcoat things. A normal person would insist that they were doing okay, or, at the other edge of the spectrum, break down and come clean. Cas stood on a precipice in the middle. Not okay, but breathing. Dean was fluent in cloaking things with silent implications and a brave face. Takes one to know one._

_"Are you coming back?" Dean asked, unable to keep the quiet desperation from his tone._

_"I have not decided," Cas responded. Dean shut his eyes._

_"Cas, I'm so, so sorry, for-"_

_"Dean. Desist. I owe you the apolo-"_

_"No apologies, Cas."_

_"No apologies," Cas agreed._

_"Can you come back?" Dean pleaded against his will._

_Silence._

_"I-" Dean's voice cracked painfully, reflecting the internal breakage. "I- I can't do this without you."_

_Cas was silent for a while longer._

_"Do what?"_

_Dean took a deep breath. _Live, breathe, sleep, think, fight...

_"Exist, Cas. I cannot exist without you."_

_And that was the truth, Dean realized. It hadn't always been that way, he had only had that sort of dependency with Sam. But Sam was his home growing up, the only constant. Cas wasn't a constant in any manner of the word, not by a long shot. But he was fucking_ empty,_ depleted, without his angel, and when Cas was with him, he became magnanimous, and the world was whole._

_And when he wasn't there, that's when Dean really knew what Cas meant to him. It felt like a nasty bout of withdrawal, the world turning cold and grey and meaningless._

_"After- after Purgatory," Dean said, his heart beating so loudly he wished he had a volume control. "After I let go of your hand. I thought I lost you. I didn't even know then. I didn't know what I know now, and I was breakin' at the cracks. You tore me apart, Cas. And that wasn't the first time. That day, at the lake..." Dean's voice trembled._

_"Dean..."_

_"I held your coat sometimes," Dean blurted. "When I felt lonely, or- or desperate, or just- any time I needed you."_

_Cas just breathed slowly, letting Dean collect himself._

_"You do _not_ get to leave me," Dean said finally. "Ever. Ever again."_

_"If Sam is still in the area tomorrow, I will get a ride from him."_

_The line clicked and went dead. Dean shut his phone off, feeling I for isolated. But he also felt an O. Optimistic._

* * *

Now, lying in his bed, curled up on himself, Dean allowed the tears to flow. He wasn't entirely sure why he was crying. Maybe he was sad that he had driven Cas to this. Maybe he was unwilling to admit to himself that maybe Cas had meant every word he had said to that angel.

Maybe he was scared because maybe Cas had meant the exact opposite.

But one thing he did know: that he could work on this- this thing, whatever it was, with Cas. The raw emotions kept figure-skating around, cold and precise and graceful and horrible.

But they could fix this. Cas was coming home, and they could fix this.

* * *

**I hope that was not too too incoherent... I am just blergh.**

**Current mood: Destiel. Deancas. Casdean. Cas x Dean. Deanstiel. Dean x Cas. BlueGreen. Castiel x Dean. Dean x Cas. D x C. CD. Desti fucking el.**

**Good night, my pretty ponies, I have to get my four hours now.**


	24. Vicodin

**Twenty four chapters. Holy fucking shit, that's two fucking dozen chapters. Two dozen bagels equal a lot of bagels. Two dozen chapters equal holy crap what oh my god I actually stuck with something long enough to reach four and twenty. Four and a score. Maybe more! **

**Oh, who am I kidding, there will be loads more. Hold on to yer britches, laddies and lassies.**

**I'm going in for my surgery bright and early tomorrow- correction, today, and I am nervous as fuck. That means there will probably be no update tomorrow. I have to miss my sister's graduation ceremony for it, and I'm super bummed. I graduated from her school two years ago, and I wanted to go say a quick hello to some of the teachers. Not to mention laugh at the kids' misery stuffed in thick, bordering-on-pea-coat blazers in a hot chapel. **

**Plus, my grandmother is coming in to town for the ceremony. She couldn't be bothered to come to mine. Yeah, big deal, you're thinking, but my paternal grandmother is the only extended family we have besides an aunt, uncle, and two cousins. Way to play favorites, Gam. Why don't you take my sisters on a shopping spree and leave me at home again? That was a real fun time. Or, forget my birthday but shower presents on my sisters again. Love it when you do that. **

**It's not even the materialism (we are very, very well-off) that gets to me. It's the only way she knows how to show affection. Me, the mentally unstable, sometimes suicidal, fat, gay rights supporter, not-racist, inactive, intelligent, masculine granddaughter. Why should I get anything when my sisters are petite blondes who fit into size zeroes and win trophies for gymnastics and lacrosse? Gosh, you're so nice.**

**Holy fuck, I am so, so sorry. But I am not going to delete that paragraph because I don't think it is a wise decision to bind my thoughts and train myself that my opinions are bad. I already delete enough from my brain. Excuse my rant, ladies and germs.**

**Your Antisocial Personality Disorder-ridden author, me.**

**Also, a bit of abuse in this chapter. Proceed with caution. But it's all uphill from here, not to worry. I have loads of sentences for the make-up chapter floating around in my cavernous mind, waiting to be shot down and combed into working order as soon as possible, A. K. A. as soon as I can walk- no, as soon as I can type.**

**Honestly, I could compile these author's notes into a novel-sized, well, novel. I shall zip up my lips now. Fingers? Can you zip fingers?**

* * *

Sam helped Cas get situated in the front seat before taking his crutches and setting them in the back seat. The hunter was in a pretty good mood. He had set a date to have dinner with Marin, and Cas was safe.

Cas spent the first part of the drive staring at his cast. Sam didn't expect the fallen angel to talk, as he wasn't his older brother and therefore he usually was not Cas's confidant. He jumped when Cas spoke.

"Jimmy Novak is dead," he said bluntly. Sam looked over at him.

"Oh. Um, are you sure?"

"In my angelic state, I co-inhabited this body with him. But becoming human forced him out, I think. I can't feel him any more."

"Cas, it's not your fault," Sam said. God only knew Cas didn't need yet another thing to feel guilty about.

"I usurped his body, starved his soul, used his daughter as a bargaining chip, wrecked his family, and ultimately killed him."

"When you put it like that..." Sam had to admit it did not sound good.

"I can only hope he is at peace. Many beings have come to recognize his appearance as my appearance, and that cannot bode well for him."

"Cas. You needed a vessel, and Jimmy gave consent."

"In the same way that a drunk sixteen-year-old girl might give consent to have sex. It's still wrong," Cas said.

They rode in a thick silence for a while, both hyper-aware of the humming noise of the engine and the various clicks and whirring sounds from parts of the machine only Dean knew the names of. Finally, the molasses-heavy quiet was silent when Cas spoke again.

"Dean says I should not apologize," he started.

"Cas, that's okay, man," Sam insisted.

"However, I feel as if I owe you a grandiose apology for running away and causing you much worry."

"No, it's- you're good," Sam said. He realized that he had never really spent much time alone with Cas; the only occasion that sprang to mind was during his soul-less state. If Cas had something he needed to tell the Winchesters and they weren't together, he always went to Dean. It felt awkward talking to Cas alone.

"Is Dean wrathful?" Cas asked quietly. Sam drew in a sharp breath.

"Cas, I'm going to be blunt with you..."

"Very well," the fallen man agreed reluctantly.

"Dean is pissed as hell."

Cas took a moment to sort out the metaphor.

"Rightfully so, after what I said about him." Sam looked at Cas, who was gazing sadly at his clunky white cast.

"You were only protecting us," Sam assured him.

"He thinks I was being honest," Cas said. It was not a question.

"Cas, honestly, Dean should be the one to tell you this, but you're really special to him, and he doesn't let his walls down for a lot of people. And when he does, and they hurt him-" Cas flinched- "then it's going to take you a long time to even approach those walls again. It's been a survival mechanism for him, not letting anyone in because everyone he knows dies an untimely death."

"I am willing to do whatever he needs me to do to repair us," Cas said finally. Sam nodded.

"He needs to hear that from you."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said sincerely.

"Any time, man."

* * *

Cas was exhausted by the time they reached the Bat-cave. He remembered the pills that made him feel floaty, and he took two when Sam wasn't looking. It was mid-morning, not an acceptable time for exhaustion. And the pills gave him energy, so why not? Weren't they designed to help him feel better? Cas didn't understand the rationale that pitted so many humans against drugs. Nobody in Heaven thought any less of his Father's creations if they used substances, so Cas didn't really care.

Sam held the door so that Cas could limp inside. The doctor had told him in no uncertain terms that Cas was to rest for two months at the very least, and as for his little adventure yesterday, Sam was pretty sure that had pushed the number back even further.

Dean was nowhere in sight. Crowley was baking, and even Cas thought he looked a little silly in his apron, which had somehow followed him home from the Target excursion. The ex-demon waved in Cas's general direction a plate of pancakes and bacon, but Cas shook his head. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

He struggled up the stairs dejectedly, confused by the crutches and trying hard not to lose his balance. Finally, he made it up, and he limped off to his room, only to find it locked.

_Closed for renovations, _said a sign_. Please use the room to your right._

Cas tilted his head. Surely his room was still in working order? And why would he invade Dean's 'personal bubble'?

He stood awkwardly in the hallway for a good ten minutes trying to figure everything out, leaning on his crutches, the drugs beginning to nicely fog up his mind.

Charlie came out of her own room, further down and across the hall from Cas's, carrying a hamper full of dirty laundry.

"Got any darks, Cas?"

"I do not understand. How can I possess a color?" Cas grinned. Charlie was funny.

"Never mind." Charlie set down the laundry and walked over to Dean's door, knocking softly.

"Go away unless you are the pizza delivery man."

Cas gasped, shocked at Dean's impudence. The pizza man was... dirty. But he figured Dean was making a joke, so he laughed.

"No pizza for you, Dean," he said, giggling. Charlie just looked at him before opening the door.

"Cas is here," she said simply before practically shoving Cas into Dean's room.

Cas was grinning, still amused by the pizza man thing. Dean looked at him.

"What are you doing, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I am utilizing 'crutches' to aid in transportation," Cas said, still smiling.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the hangover headache that was blooming at the edges of his senses.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to sleep." Dean pointedly curled up under the covers.

Five minutes passed.

"Cas, that was a subtle hint for you to leave," Dean clarified bluntly.

"I was instructed to stay in this room," Cas said cheerily. It was funny because Dean should know that. "You are silly," he said, chortling.

"What? Are you-"

"The sign said so." Cas laughed. Why was Dean pretending not to know? He was just so damned funny.

"Si- what? The sign told you? What the _hell_ are you talking about, Cas?"

"On my door."

Dean took a deep breath. Couldn't anyone just see that he needed space from Cas? But_ no-oo-oo-oo_, the were too busy playing matchmaker to look around and see that Cas was already getting under his skin. That was too close.

"Cas, I'm not in the best mood right now," he said, rubbing circles into his temples. "I really wish you would take your crazy shit elsewhere."

"No can do," Cas giggled.

"What is- what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I am a human, Dean! Isn't it hilarious? We were made to be superior to you guys in every imaginable way and now I'm one of you!"

"Cas, are you high?" Dean asked, horrified.

"No, I think we are currently underground. That's silly, Dean, you're silly."

Dean sighed and tried again, although being called 'silly' by a celestial warrior, albeit one with his wings clipped, was all the conformation he needed.

"Are you inebriated, intoxicated, or otherwise substance-affected?"

"Maybe, maybe not, you'll never know. It's a mystery, Dean, like that brown dog in the ugly van. With the tall guy who eats a lot and that one girl in orange."

"Ugly van...?"

"The Mystery Machine."

Dean closed his eyes.

"Scooby-Doo? Really?"

"Can I sit down now, Dean? My foot hurts like a mature female canine."

"Go away, Cas. And enough with the dog stuff."

"I can't go away, remember? I am stuck here like a crippled... cripple!" Cas laughed.

"Cas, what have you taken?"

"Vida... Vica... Vi-do-cin?" Cas pronounced.

"How much Vicodin?" Dean asked.

Cas only giggled in response.

Dean clenched his fists to avoid slapping Cas across the face.

"Dean, you know, you've got a cute little thing going here. Club Human. But, you know, I used to belong to a much better club."

Dean froze. Cas grinned stupidly at him, unaware of the heavy weight of his words.

And then Dean exploded. Visions of another, resurrected, branch of fate sprinted through his vision.

Cas in that weird hipster shirt thing.

Cas, not having shaved for at least a week.

Cas reeking heavily of marijuana.

Cas convincing those random women that sex was great for building community.

Cas taking shit-loads of anything in a pill casing. Hallucinogens, amphetamines, cocaine, what-the-fuck-ever. Probably even vitamin supplements.

Cas in the van, talking and taking the end.

Cas with that empty glint in his eyes. That little light that made Dean feel like he had been strapped to the railroad tracks and the train was coming.

_The end._

The end of Cas, the end of everything that made him Cas. That fragile innocence, the beautiful naivete that was so reminiscent of a young puppy. The fighting mentality that he had already lost, given up the moment he looked in the mirror at his bare, spiny back.

And now here he was.

Step zero- become a human, the click of the trigger that shot the rope that held the beams that constricted the dam that bound the water, destroying the nation below.

Check.

Step one- lose hope. Check.

Step two- drugs. Check.

The remaining steps, the seals left to break, made Dean's heart thud at the low quantity. They barely counted as plural.

Have sex.

Die.

Dean's vision blurred around the edges and his body sprang to action without asking for his mind's permission.

_Not that his mind would have repealed the order._

He punched Cas, square in the jaw, and yet the stupid, stupid bastard was still grinning. He closed his eyes and waited for another hit. And it came.

And another.

Eight in all, stopping only when Dean grazed Cas's broken, just-set nose. The fallen angel let out a strangled cry and reached his hands up to cradle his face. He lost hold of the crutches, and promptly lost his balance, tumbling to the floor, his forehead narrowly missing the sharp, punishing corner of the end table.

That was wrong. Cas didn't lose his balance; the world merely turned sideways and then his head was being crushed between cinder-block walls.

"Dean," he shouted. Not an angry, threatening shout, but a pitiful cry for help that made Dean's stomach turn.

Cas was so disoriented that he had forgotten why he was in so much pain. He used his instinct, the only one that had kept him more or less alive so many times.

_Call for Dean._

But Dean was the one who hurt him, his assailant, not his savior. Dean felt as if someone had shoved an arrow down his throat, choked and stabbed and holy fuck my chest hurts.

He crouched on the floor next to Cas, who opened one eye and looked up at him.

"Where's the Vicodin, Cas?"

"Pocket."

Dean, none too gently, gripped the pills tight and held them up to inspect.

PENDRAGO. Take one, daily, until cast is removed. DO NOT OVERUSE. IMMEDIATELY CALL POISON CONTROL CENTER IN THE OCCASION OF AN ACCIDENTAL OVERDOSE.

Cas was on three.

Dean walked away, suddenly calm, the breezy sun after a tidal wave. He opened up a lock-protected box and placed the pill bottle inside it, then clicked it shut. Then, he pressed the key in between the pages of Joseph Heller's novel Catch-22.

_Kind of ironic_, Dean mused, gazing at his choice of book.

Cas had been crying since his nose had erupted in pain, silently at first, and then the tears flowed uninhibited. He sniffed loudly, let out load wails, and then he was a dripping mess on Dean's floor. Blood, snot, tears, drool.

And in that moment, Dean forgave Cas, and turned his hatred one-eighty degrees. He hated himself even more, if that was possible, and for now it was time to patch up Cas.

He would be sleeping in a guest room tonight, a shift utterly symbolic.

Cas had become more important to Dean than himself, sleeping in the room he had created for himself, silently setting up camp in the empty, hollowed-out, spider-webbed corridors in Dean's heart.

Dean was merely a guest, popping in here and there, only when Cas was safe and sound.

He didn't sleep that night.

* * *

**Aaaand now I need three Vicodin pills myself. I guess I shall probably get something like that tomorrow. TODAY. Oh my steaming shit, it's June the fifth. **

**A round of Vicodin, on the house. Now go to bed and get you four hours. That's an order, ensigns! (Insert a lot of exclamation points because F F net always cuts off the extras.)**

**Also, I cut the name Pendragon off on purpose. Porpoise. eheheheheheh. N E ways, my last name is super long and they always shave it off after eight letters. Pend Rago. Sounds like a nasty flavor of pasta sauce.**


	25. Epicenter

**If you're seeing this message, then I'm, well, dead.**

**Not really, but that always sounds so epic in movies and such. I lived through my surgery. It was really odd. They took me into the prep room and strapped me into a table, hooking up IVs and heart rate monitors and pulse-ox monitors and who knows what else. I was just staring up at a team of masked, capped, scrubbed doctors, nurses and anesthesiologists, anonymized by their sterile gear, like in movies when the main character is going in for some sort of procedure. Then, someone jostled a breathing tube down my throat (loads of fun) and strapped on a mask. Then, they started with the laughing gas, which worked remarkably quickly. Let me explain you a thing: laughing gas is as weird as hell. Nothing's funny, you're not being forced to laugh, but you find yourself in histrionic convulsions, an out-of-nowhere hysteria that just feels so good. Then, I don't remember anything else, and I was waking up in the recovery bay, next to a young girl named Carys who had broken her arm so badly she needed surgery.**

**I had an out-of-body experience then, and it was ****_trippy as fuck_****. I thought that only happened when you were dead/dying/high as a kite/completely under. But apparently its more common than you might think, especially for non-smoking young women, which is the demographic most affected by anesthesia. I just started floating around, gliding around the recovery bay, unable to see past the curtain that kept me and poor unconscious Carys who got in a car accident inside. Her cast was green.**

**Then I passed out again in a bed cubicle and nurses were hooking me up to IVs. They gave me my iPhone to listen to, as the surgery ward of the Children's Hospital was echoing with the pleasant peals of a screaming toddler receiving dialysis for the first time. Poor girl. She got diabetes because her mother hadn't bothered to take care of herself during pregnancy. She couldn't be bothered to be healthy for nine months, so the poor thing has to clean up the mess for the rest of her life. (I don't think the gossiping nurses thought I was aware enough to listen.)**

**Guys, if you get pregnant/impregnate someone, please make sure you/the mother is healthy. **

**I'm typing this in the recovery room, and by some miracle FF Net is letting me post from an iPhone. I am not responsible for any weirdness. Well, I am, but I just came out of universal anesthesia. This fic is currently distracting me from my intense throbbing pain in my lumbar region. It's about seven-thirty in the evening, and I've been here for twelve hours. UGH.**

* * *

"Cas?" Charlie called softly, knocking gingerly on Dean's bedroom door. The fallen man had slept through lunch and the others had put off dinner as much as possible to let him sleep. That may have been an effect of Dean's obtuse refusal to let anyone eat before Cas got up. Finally, they volunteered Charlie to go rouse Cas.

"I can't," Dean had said, aand nobody really wished for him to elaborate.

"He'll probably try to smite me. Plus, I cooked all this," Crowley had chimed in.

"I am a prophet. I can sit here and stare at this chicken curry without getting up if I damn well please. I may not have any archangels currently at my disposal, as two are locked up and two are dead, but you don't mess with me," Kevin had defended. Dean had just looked at him oddly.

"I'll go," Sam had said, but as he tried to stand, Dean caught his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair.

"Nope, Sammy." Sam had looked at Dean, an I-am-fed-up-with-your-shit look, but didn't protest. His head had been throbbing all day, blood pressure changing as rapidly as possession in a professional basketball game, plummeting and rising and being all together strange.

"That leaves me," Charlie had said good-naturedly. Truth be told, she would have been reluctant to have let anyone else deal with Cas right now.

Dean had opened his mouth to warn her, unsure of what state Cas might be; whether it be catatonic or unclothed or both or somewhere in between.

But he grappled in midair for the words he needed, not finding them. How do you tell someone that their already trodden-upon surrogate family member had been trodden on some more? And secondly, how did you admit that you were doing the trodding? _Oh, hey, warning, Cas got beat up because he took some painkillers._ Oh, yeah, it was me who did it. No biggie. He closed his mouth, watching her walk away. Sam squinted at him, sensing that something was wrong, but didn't press further.

Now, standing at the door, there was no response. After trying again, she reached for the door knob and found that the room was unlocked.

"Cas, honey?" The lights were off, and she noted that Dean had done this despite his anger at the broken angel.

"Dean?" Cas said weakly, hope seeping into his voice like sunlight through a ripped blackout curtain.

"No, sweetheart, it's Charlie."

"Oh."

Charlie noted that Cas had a way of communicating efficiently through few words, a rare gift. He could say 'would you like some bacon' and his words would convey more meaning than a well-crafted novel.

This small, uttered, 'oh' spoke volumes. It said that Cas was weary, Cas was in immense pain, and most of all, that he cared for, no, loved the elder Winchester in a way that Charlie couldn't even begin to fathom. She knew that Cas was in severe emotional pain as well as physical pain.

"Is it okay to turn on the lights?" Charlie asked, heart breaking. However, she was immensely relieved that Cas was conscious.

"Yes," Cas said, an obvious lie. His voice quivered in pain, the single syllable ringing with the echoes of a thousand neurons alight in agony, reacting to all of the damage, rushing back full force now that he was conscious again.

"I'm going to turn on the lights now," Charlie warned. She groped around on the wall until she found the light switch, and flipped it deftly with a flick of her hand.

Cas wasn't in the bed, though the covers were tangled and unmade. Charlie caught a glimpse of a bulky white thing- his cast- out of the corner of her eye. She gasped as she saw Cas on the floor, on his side, one arm awkwardly slung through one of his crutches, lying to the side of him, and the other was pinned between the crutch and his body and the floor, the metal frame almost parallel to his body, his arm squeezed in the middle.

Charlie had never met Castiel the angel. She knew Cas, the pathetic, endearing, weathered man who just didn't know how to treat the world, but poked at it gingerly, tilti until it complied or ran away.

Nonetheless, seeing him like this, in too much pain to even free his arm from the punishing grasp of the metal, made Charlie sad. She walked over to him, mumbling comforting nonsense, aware that it wouldn't help unless it came from Dean. She gently untangled him from the crutches, paying special attention to the nasty purple lines now on his arm.

"How long did you_ lay _like this?" Charlie murmured.

"Since I fell over," Cas responded truthfully. He just hadn't had the strength required to move, and that was even before the Vicodin wore off. After that, he faded into a pain-clouded haze, followed by a nightmare-riddled sleep.

Finally, Charlie had maneuvered him onto the bed, sitting upright and at attention. She felt like chucking the crutches halfway to Isengard for what they had done to the poor man, but somehow kept the voice of reason and left them there for now. She retrieved a wet washcloth and some bandages and set to work on repairing Cas's face, knowing that he needed it out of mind, Dean needed it out of sight, and the others just didn't need to know. She had guessed what happened as soon as she saw his face, and Dean's 'I can't wake him' echoed in her mind.

But somehow, impossibly, she got the vibe that things were on the mend. Cas had come back, tail between his legs, and Dean was once again being stubbornly, ridiculously, lubriciously protective of him.

She would bring up the apparent beating later.

* * *

The oxygen fled the room as soon as Charlie walked back in, crutches nowhere in sight, helping Cas walk along on his good foot. Dean was inhaling, but no air was coming in, and he wondered briefly if that was what it might be like to lose one's space helmet while on a nice hike atop the moon. His heart rate increased, the powerful muscle contracting quickly, trying to squeeze out all of the oxygen left in his bloodstream as if someone held his neck underwater. With an ornamental necklace made of cinder blocks.

Cas's face was patched up, and too the naked eye it looked like the angel had just ridden his motorcycle through a rosebush. But Dean knew the angel's face like Roman schoolboys knew their classic literature: wholly, unflinchingly, grudgingly, perfectly. His complexion was sallow and wan, from the blood loss and the lack of vitamin D. He had been crying, given away by the tiny sliver of redness on the edges of his eyelids. The bruises were covered by Charlie's mostly-unused concealer or foundation or whatever. At least, Dean hoped it was Charlie's; it would be a scary thing to behold if it belonged to Sam, Crowley or Kevin.

Dean's insides decided to rearrange himself as the facts hit him again. He had done this to Cas. He had beaten him and yelled at him and left him lying on the floor, taken his painkillers and left only bruises and pain. Sam placed a hand on his forearm gingerly, and Dean noted absently that his fingernails were digging into his leg through the cotton of his pajama pants.

_Weird. Why does that not hurt?_

Then, Cas smiled weakly at the table and the people around it, and Dean could breath again. If not oxygen, the air had been pumped full of laughing gas. There was nothing funny, but Dean couldn't stop his body from convulsing in silent laughter, giddy with who-the-fuck-knew as Charlie helped the fallen angel into his seat and Crowley offered to say a grace.

"A grace," Kevin repeated incredulously, staring open-mouthed, dumb-foundedly at the clean-shaven king of Hell who held his hands out to Sam on his left and Cas to his right. Sam shrugged and gave Dean his other hand, and the older Winchester, still enveloped in waves of silent laughter, gave his to Kevin. Cas clasped hands with Charlie, who extended her palm out to the startled prophet.

Kevin's hands stayed in his lap, even as the look of astonishment thawed off of his features. Finally, he lifted them, but instead of completing the chain, he held Dean's hand to Charlie's, cutting himself off from the circle of faith, casting himself aside from the believers.

Cas realized what Kevin had done as soon as he had done it, and smoothly connected Charlie's other hand with Crowley's, excommunicating himself firmly from his faith.

Dean stopped laughing.

Cas had lost his faith, and he had expressed it just as subtly as sending a brick through someone's locked window to tell them you weren't fond of them.

Cas.

Castiel, his brother, his ally, his fellow soldier, his savior many times over, his nearly-lover, a literal man of God.

Had lost faith.

If Cas, who was borne of love for his father, carried it in every cell and folloed it relentlessly and wholly, had lost that faith, then what was left for him?

Then, as everyone else listened to Crowley's prayer (even Kevin had the grace to close his eyes) Dean opened his eyes to find Cas's blue ones staring intensely back at him.

_Am I _holy_ to Cas?_

_Have I become the epicenter of his reality, as God once was?_

Dean shut his eyes, unwilling to face the weight of his angel's soulful gaze.

And in that moment, Castiel became Cas for good.

* * *

**Oh, and it's time for me to the cue the Alice Cooper, 'cause ****_school's out! for! SUM-MER~!_**

**At least for me, it is. Happy June fifth, every pony.**


	26. Pinot Noir

**Another iPhone-typed chapter, so the punctuation might be off. My back hurts like a bitch and I want to go home.**

**Thank god I have Destiel stories to read, Destiel story to write, and Destiel comments to squee over.**

**That really makes the nurses look at me funny. **

**But I've been here for sixteen hours. I feel like Gabriel has taken me to that episode where Dean ends up in the Leviathan infest hospital and can't really get out. Only I do not believe there are any Leviathan in this hospital, as it has frequently been voted into the top ten pediatric hospitals in the United States, top twenty worldwide. **

**At least that poor, poor toddler stopped screaming.**

* * *

Sam, feeling antsy and restless, got up to put the dishes away. Cas, at first, had politely engaged in small talk when conversations were directed towards him, but Dean didn't speak. Cas didn't eat, and Dean ate even less. Crowley had cooked up a mismatched feast, which they all guessed was out of happiness at the fallen angel's safe return. There was a splendid chicken curry served with from-scratch naan bread. Raspberry compote and apricot preserves covered a baked brie dish, and the humanized demon king had somehow produced two bottles of 1953 pinot noir, and it was the only thing Cas touched all night after having put his fork down, one bite of curry still halfway on it. Dean watched, paralyzed, as Cas helped himself to more and more wine. He wanted to look away, wanted to smack the bottle away from the fallen angel and put him in the panic room until he got his Grace back.

Cas had stopped talking about halfway through the meal. When they were all there, the group had fallen into the pattern of sitting around after the meal, shooting the breeze for hours until someone cleared away the food. They were in for the long haul and they loved it. Charlie loved that she had a family. Crowley loved that he had people to care for and be in the pleasant company of. Not that he thought that they regarded him the same way, but he was fiercely attached to the little family. Hence the fancy food. Sam and Dean loved sit-down, home-cooked dinners where they could talk afterwards; not having to choose between leaving the restaurant as soon as everyone finished or eat takeout in the dim, dismal motel rooms. Kevin, though he wouldn't really admit it to himself, had always associated dinner time with evenings, those stressful times filled with essays and cello and SAT practice. He had thought he wanted it at the time, he hadn't known everything else. But now, though he missed it, he didn't know if he would take an opportunity to return to the endless horrific nightmare of schoolwork. Besides, he was officially missing, and after Googling his high-profile disappearance the other day, he found out that he had been presumed dead. People he knew were moving on, going to college and pursuing mindless academia and petty hobbies. If he ever wanted to return to the real life, he could fake a kidnapping, pretend to have been held in a warehouse for years, publish a memoir and dabble in whatever he wanted.

The family dinners took hours, and Cas wasn't up for that. After about fifteen minutes, he ceased talking and occupied his mouth with the sixty-year-old red wine. He remembered the year of fifty-three, one event in particular standing out in his mind. A young man named Eliot Washington, a 'negro', as the more-polite term was then. Twenty two years old. A young white woman had been found, beaten, on the side of a dirt road, and the community pinned it on Eliot Washington. Before he even had a court date set, the young woman's beau had rallied a group of fathers and brothers. They hung him from a tree in his front yard, setting his clothes on fire, watching him cry and struggle limply.

The boyfriend, the one who had been so outraged, had beaten her, and they killed Eliot Washington.

He was a child of Thursday, and Cas had heard Eliot's silent pleas. He had begged, pleaded with Michael to let him save the man but the archangel shook his head unfeelingly, saying that they were not to interfere.

He stood beneath Eliot as he swung in the tree, and numbed his pain as he passed on to heaven.

Then, he had made sure that the boyfriend was condemned to Hell, earmarked before he turned thirty.

Now, in the bunker, Cas swirled the wine, remembering Eliot Washington and the wrath he felt.

Naomi's words- the words he had fabricated in his dream- echoed in his mind. Castiel, you were always a human.

Wrath. Sixty years ago, a full, obedient angel, committing one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

He never fully drained his wine goblet, but refilled it often. Becoming human had altered his senses so much. Before, they were boundless, able to experience anything and everything under the magnifying glass, sensations exaggerated greatly if he chose, but mostly he did not. Now, things were dull and oftentimes annoying, like one occasion where the tag on Dean's shirt had irritated his skin so much that he had gouged little strips of skin off in his frenzy to make the itching stop. But on the other hand, the experiences, the sensations, they were exquisite simply because he felt them. Sunshine on his face, a breeze blowing in through the Impala's windows, the comfort of a bed. Everything was dulled, but exaggerated at the same time. It was frustrating and glorious, especially touch and sight.

But taste was the one Cas simply abhorred.

The fact that he needed sustenance through food and drink disgusted him. Occasionally, he had joined in on Holy Communion, preferring the Protestant churches for their inclusive policies, and the broken bread was the only thing he had on a regular basis. Which meant once or twice a century. Now, eating made him want to cry, or shoot himself. It became the pinnacle of being human for Cas. Dean loved it, but eating, to Cas, was admitting defeat; a weakness. The dependency his mortal form had for it, the sheer greed, disgusted Cas. He took a bite of the curry at the beginning, to show Dean that he was making an effort. But eating was... foul. Something _animals_ did.

Drinking was different. Many angels had a propinquity towards alcohol. Zachariah and Raphael in particular loved the stuff. Cas didn't mind the taste. He welcomed the bitterness, suffered through the fire that seemed to pour down his throat.

It was penance. Simple masochism. Cas watched Dean once, invisible, drink rum until he could no longer function. After transporting Dean to bed and placing him under the covers in his pajamas with a touch to the forehead, Cas had sampled some.

It felt like drinking hand sanitizer felt like, and it made his vessel violently sick.

Masochism via drinking was another habit he picked up from Dean, and it was glorious. The buzz obscured his worst memories, clouding his thoughts as he drank more and more until he was only aware of the glass in front of him and the existence of Dean.

* * *

Dean was unable to eat for a wholly different reason. Alcohol was a gateway drug, especially for people who had never dabbled in their teens, and Cas was on the fast path towards addiction. A beer or two here, a few glasses of Crowley's whisky there.

Dean watched as Cas drank and drank, thinking of another Cas far away, long gone, but nonetheless looming.

Then Dean noted for the first time the fallen angel's beard, an unkempt yet short collection of fuzz that had grown in. The man had to remind himself to wear clothes; how could he be expected to shave?

Dean's heart clenched, remembering aa passing remark that the parallel-world Cas had made. He couldn't be bothered to maintain that part of himself. _Why shave when you're dead tomorrow?_

Dean made a mental note to teach Cas to shave. And when they started sleeping in the same room, he would make him shave just as often as he did himself.

_Whoah, whoah, whoah, Dean. You beat the crap out of him eight hours ago and you are already thinking of moving in?_

_What makes you think he still likes you? After what you made him say? After all the things you did to him? The first time you met him, you-_

_Dean, stop._

_-stabbed him in the chest, and you haven't exactly improved. All the times you gave up on him and lied to him and used him as-_

_Please stop._

_-your own personal angel-blade. Why would he ever, ever want to sleep in the same bed as you?_

Sam had been telling one of his favorite time-to-embarrass-Dean-in-front-of-the-company stories, this particular one involving him and a particularly traumatizing hunt where a monster had peed on him.

Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder as he reached the punchline ("and he didn't seven notice that he was playing fire hydrant until dad said, 'son, you smell like urinal cake!'"), grabbing Dean an pulling him back to his own mind. He laughed, pretended to duck his head in embarrassment, but found his gaze drawn once again to Cas.

Who was staring back at him, unflinchingly, something... bestial in his eyes that scared the crap out of Dean.

* * *

**I can ****_not _****believe that I've reached twenty-six chapters and thirty-five thousand words! aSDFGHJKL;' I am sort of addicted to writing this story. Like, always thinking about phrases and plot points I want to add and elements I should tie in and I feel as if I've evolved, PokeMon style, from Becky Rosen into Charlie Bradbury. Ren fairs are fun as hell. Go find one. Dress in caricature, not character, and have a day or three of uninhibited fun. **

**And I still feel loopy, so sorry about any mistakes and/or nonsensical auto correct hiccups. iPhones astound me. They recognize the word 'together' from 'ryihrer' but they try to change 'spork' into 'pile'. Really, iOS? You're behaving worse than Mr. Smith, my laptop. **

**Somebody please make an effective operating system k thanks bye**


	27. Remembrances

**The two bits that make up this chapter don't really go together all that well, but then again, neither do Rihanna and Chris Brown.**

**That made sense in my head. **

**All of my reviewers yesterday, today, and ever, I love you all! You get a cambion-produced Cas action figure, complete with little knife. Yay.**

* * *

The quiet was what got to Cas that night. Dean had gone off to one of the other bedrooms, so Cas used his again without a second thought. His foot sent unbearable twinges of pain jolting up his leg, and he found himself fantasizing about being an angel again and having his leg healed with his 'mo jo'. But he was still quite buzzed and it was certainly better than when he was sober and off of the painkillers.

It wasn't the pain, it was the lack of noise. His angel P. A. system that used to be constantly in his mind, filling the voids and the corners and the little cracks in his consciousness, omnipresent and constant.

He had lost so, so much and the silence was nearly unbearable. As he lay in the dark, he couldn't stop a list of all the things he was now going without.

Power. He had to walk from place to place, instead of just being there merely by thinking it. He couldn't flee, couldn't smite, couldn't fix things, couldn't heal.

His ability to walk in dreams. He used to walk amongst Dean as he slept, chasing away nightmares when he was around. Now, he was plagued by bad dreams himself.

His wings. Oh, how his back hurt now, the phantom aches filling him with constant pain. Though his wings were never corporeal in Jimmy's body, they were always there, always waiting for him. He had loved to stretch them out in sunny fields and feel them quiver with power. It saddened him to think that he had never allowed the Winchesters- never allowed Dean to see them. He would have been awed, Cas thought, rolling over onto his stomach, wishing that he could spread his wings across the room, drape them over the floor and the furniture and let the feathers fill the room with light. But they were gone, and he was left only with a throbbing pain at the bases of his shoulder blades.

And, almost as frightening as the loss of communication with his brothers, he had lost his ability to visualize souls. Dean's used to be like a beacon, a light burning on the edge of his consciousness that alerted him to the whereabouts of the green-eyed Righteous Man. With it, he lost the ability to receive Dean's prayers, to be alerted whenever the hunter thought of him. If Dean saw a bluebird that reminded him subconsciously of Cas's eyes, even if he didn't think it outright, Cas was aware. Receiving Dean's thoughts had warmed him through all the times he couldn't come to him, his ordeal with Naomi he bore with only the little sliver of warmth that emanated from the elder Winchester.

Towards the end of his days as an angel, he had been constantly on Dean's mind, a presence in the hunter's thoughts as constant as Dean's soul beacon in his own self. He carried the thoughts of Cas so deeply embedded in his soul that Cas was flooded by the heat and light.

But all of that was gone, the brightness used to see emanating from Dean reduced to a shine in his green eyes.

Dean's soul had been the white noise that set the backdrop for the symphony of angelic voices.

And the silence that engulfed him alone at night was enough to make him gaze longingly at the weapons in Dean's room, wishing for reprieve.

But however hard he wished, the silence was there, mocking, taunting, jeering at his mistakes, highlighting his regrets and magnifying them a thousand times over.

* * *

Dean and Sam were the first two up the next morning. Dean came out of the unoccupied room, yawning, to see Sam nursing a bowl of oatmeal at the table, filling numbers into a Sudoku grid in a book of logic puzzles he'd picked up at Target.

"Dean," Sam said, nodding in acknowledgement of his brother's presence.

"Morning," Dean grunted.

Dean Winchester's interpersonal relationship skills were summed up easily: don't talk about feelings. Ever. Sam was dying to ask about how he was doing, how he was dealing with Cas and their...whatever they had. But he kept his mind focused on finding all of the sevens in his puzzle. He almost reached for the saltshaker when Dean broached the subject all by himself.

"I like Cas," he blurted suddenly.

"I know," Sam said patiently. He'd known for ages.

"I know you know. I'm just... I don't know."

"I've known since you got back from Purgatory."

Dean smiled, a small gesture that was almost invisible.

"I didn't even know then."

"Dean..."

"I fucked up royally, Sammy," Dean said, his voice breaking.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I- I hit him," Dean stuttered, a tear tumbling down his face and into his lap.

Sam looked at him, shocked. His brother, who had all but raised him, had never once lashed out at him unless they both moved towards a physical altercation at the same time. His brother, who he had seen nurse a weak young kitten back to health. His brother who had been extraordinarily gentle with Cas thus far- Sam found it difficult to believe that he would be one for abuse.

"I- he-" Dean was completely in tears by the time he tried to speak again. "He took- he took too much Vicodin, and- and I was so scared, and he was- he just laughed- I can't let him turn into-" Dean broke off, swallowing down a sob, and looked away, vision blurred, unable to face his brother.

"Dean," Sam said. He didn't know what to say. He would love his brother no matter what, but he was still fiercely protective of Cas.

"I don't deserve him," Dean said with a shuddered breath.

"Dean. Look at me." Sam remained calm. Dean wiped his eyes, embarrassed beyond anything he'd ever felt, and met his brother's eyes. "Promise me you won't ever do it again."

"I promise."

"Because I'll have to hurt you."

A moment passed.

Dean smiled. "Am I getting the 'don't hurt my kid sister' speech from my kid brother?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you are."

One of the things that made life on the road together so easy for the brothers was their effective communication. In a few sentences, Dean had confessed, Sam had judged, pulled out a promise, and forgiven, and the conversation was turned light-hearted again.

"I just can't get over the fact that you have a crush on a guy," Sam said.

"Crush? Are we seventh graders or something?" Dean huffed.

"No, it's just- it's weird," Sam said. "Like, if you were to suddenly eat some cake."

"Sammy, what-"

"Never mind."

"Hey, not like you can talk, Mister I'm-So-Bisexual-It-Hurts."

Sam stared.

"What are you talking about?" He finally managed to speak. Dean just sat back and enjoyed his face for a moment before responding.

"You. You like pie and cake, so to speak." Sam blushed.

"I guess."

"You guess? Sam, one time we were tracking down a vampire in Pittsburgh or something, and I went out to hook up, and I came back early to find you and someone in bed, and-"

"Dean," Sam hissed, bright red.

"-I left pretty quick, 'cause God knows you need to get laid, and I sat in the Impala for an hour until-"

"Dean."

"-I saw you guys had finished and I waited for your mystery conquest to leave and it was a guy, Sammy, and I almost died of shock."

"Yeah, that was Alex," Sam said finally, once his face had cooled off a bit.

"Sammy likes bo-oys," Dean sing-songed.

"You're one to talk."

"No, Sam, I like boy, singular, and technically Cas has no gender-"

"He does now-"

"Hey, Sam, at least I'm confident enough to admit it."

"Please, jerk, I had to coax it out of you. It was like pulling teeth." Sam rolled his eyes at the memory.

"You're a bitch, Samantha. You know that?" Dean threw a balled-up napkin at his brother.

"I only ever- um, slept with three guys," Sam said.

"Alex and who else?" Dean wanted to take in every bit of info he could while the topic was open.

"Dylan Waters, from when I was a senior in high school in Pasadena," Sam admitted reluctantly.

"No way. I totally thought you were a virgin throughout all of high school," Dean said, surprised at his little brother.

"Nope. Chantal Grey was my first. In the summer before junior year," Sam said.

"Oh, be still my heart!" Dean pretended to faint. "Those poor girls never stood a chance!"

"Shut up," Sam said, smiling.

"I had sex in sophomore year," Dean confided, unwilling to be outdone.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I was eleven, Dean, and I woke up to find you and some girl stumbling into the room. I left," he added quickly. "But the next morning I went to get back in bed and there was a bra tossed across it." Sam laughed. "I stuck it on one of the cars outside."

"You did not," Dean said.

"I did."

Dean giggled- no, he was still a man even if he liked Cas, and men didn't giggle, they laugh- and tried to imagine an eleven-year-old Sammy, with a bra, trying to place it in the most devious location possible without getting cooties.

"So, the third?" Dean asked eventually.

"Not telling," Sam said quickly, suddenly very interested in making his oatmeal resemble a zen garden, complete with raisin rocks and little stripes.

"Sam," Dean said, trying his best to sound stern and paternal. "Who was it?"

"Nobody," Sam insisted. "Did I say three? I meant two. Yep. Alex and Dylan. They were both really, really-"

"So it's someone I knew," Dean deduced.

"No. You didn't know him 'cause he never existed," Sam insisted stubbornly.

"Samue-el," Dean teased.

"No, Dean," Sam said, all candor gone from his face.

Dean smiled, knowing he was on to something. Obviously, Sam was too embarrassed to let him know, so it had to be a really, really good bit of ammunition.

"Sammy, don't make me pull out the Supernatural books," Dean sing-songed. Sam visibly paled.

"No. Oh my god, no. Chuck was- Chuck was really descriptive that scene-"

"Aha. I better get a hold of those e-books Charlie mentioned."

"No. Please, Dean, I'm begging you-"

"Then tell me who you slept with!" Dean was beaming. This was really, really good.

"Mghrthrel," Sam murmured.

"Um, what?"

"I slept with Mghrbrl," Sam tried again, choking on the words.

"Sam-"

"Gabriel. I slept with Gabriel," Sam spat. "Happy now?"

Dean had frozen, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Gabri- the archangel? The one who killed me, like, eighty billion times and then got iced by Lucy?"

"Yes," Sam admitted. "But if Cas doesn't count 'cause he 'doesn't have a gender' or whatever, then Gabriel doesn't count either." He crossed his arms stubbornly after making furious air-quotes.

"Sam- how did you even- Gabriel- Sam, why?" Dean stuttered.

"Remember before we even thought he was a trickster? When we just thought he was a harmless janitor on that college campus? I mean, way before the Tuesdays and the Apocalypse?" Sam pleaded with his brother to understand.

"Oh. You want me to be cool with the fact that you slept with Gabriel?" Dean giggled.

"I thought he was human, Dean."

"Even worse! What, the bumbling little janitor just happened to catch your eye?"

"Yes, actually." Sam pouted.

"Oh, my god, when he said that thing about a wild night of great sex- that was you, wasn't it!" Dean's eyes widened.

"No. Maybe."

Dean's eyebrow twitched.

"Yes," Sam huffed.

"I can't believe it," Dean said, grinning. "Did you do him again?"

"Dean," Sam absconded, looking horrified. "I thought he was dead. And then he kept killing you, and then it was Apocalypse Now."

"So?"

"So of course I didn't!"

"You slept with an angel. Oh my god, Sammy. Demons and archangels and werewolves. Is there anything you have _not_ tapped?"

Sam glared.

"Aw, come on, Sammy, you know I-"

"You can't honestly make fun of my conquests."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, you're not exactly pure, though,"

"Hey. I'e never slept with someone who wasn't completely willing. And I've never had to pay."

"Dean, stop talking about who I slept with when I didn't have a soul-"

"You slept with Gabriel. With a soul," Dean prodded.

"You went on a date with Bela Talbot," Sam jibed.

"Touche."

They sat in silence for a while. Sam returned to his book of puzzles.

"Gabriel, though."

"Shut up."

* * *

**I am not one for Sabriel. I never noticed any on-screen chemistry or anything to promote it, and I've yet to read a non-alternate universe fic where it seems plausible. But I have received at least five messages asking me to add Sabriel, so there. Mua ha ha ha ha. **

**I find it very plausible that Sam is bisexual, though...**


	28. Scarier Than A Wendigo

**I went to go get some post-surgery lab work done (blood draw, urine sample, all that jazz) and there was the sassiest nurse I have ever met administering the needle. He was wearing blue Converse All-Stars to match his blue scrubs. My dad said, "I did not know they still made those shoes," and the guy said, "Oh hells, yeah, they do!" Then my dad said "huh," all non-committal and the guy was like, "My boyfriend and I each have like, eight pairs. I have one in each basic color, and they match all of my multi-colored scrubs," he informed us. My dad kind of looked at him funny as he went on to tell the tale of the Great Converse Shopping Trip, wherein he went to the Mall Of America with his boyfriend Phil and they searched for hours and got matching shoes. My dad was looking vaguely creeped out at the fact that this guy was openly saying things like 'my boyfriend' and I was trying not to crack up at it and it was wonderful. I was all weary and post-surgery pain and his story was really entertaining but then my dad was being all disapproving and shit and it made me feel like crap and stuff so I wrote some story to cheer me up because I am bisexual and having people disapprove of non-straight people makes me nervous and uncomfortable and stuff. The prescribed medicine for that, my friends, is of course, loads of gay fictional characters. Destiel ahoy!**

* * *

Kevin was feeling restless and stir crazy after a few weeks of not getting any work done on translating the tablets. He supposed it was sort of pointless looking into Metatron's spell now, and he wanted to find any possible mentions of reversing it or getting Cas up to Heaven without killing him or just any damn thing, really. This was his life now, his sole purpose, and hanging around without really earning his keep made him uneasy. His entire life had been one great chant of _go go go go go, achieve achieve achieve achieve, don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop, be better be better be the best be the best, do do do do do do, get stuff done get stuff done_.

It wasn't that he regarded the last few weeks as a waste of time. Soon after the angels had fallen, he had been possessed with the crazy obsession that he had to bring the entire Winchester family together, which of course didn't mean Sam and Dean but Cas and Charlie also. The level of pure need he had felt in completing that task was equivalent only to the level of determination he had felt on the first night of being a prophet, when he was pulled along like a spastic puppeteer's marionette, searching wildly for the word of God.

And that had been ages ago. Or maybe only a few years. Either way, it felt like several lifetimes.

He made himself a large thermos of coffee, nodded hello to Sam and Crowley in the kitchen, and refused a plate of eggs Benedict before taking the tablet back to his room. He brushed the dust off of his desk and sat down. He had previously created a referendum of basic terms in God-language, verbs and phrases like 'to be' and 'obtain' and 'righteous man' and 'devil'. This allowed him to skim, as it were, over certain glyphs and symbols. First, he sought out the words for Heaven. There were a lot of references, which made sense, because it was where the angels were based.

Kevin found himself reading about Heaven's hierarchies, outdated now that the Apocalypse had come and gone. It listed the archangels and the others by rank and class. The only thing he had really accomplished so far was reading about the differences in the various angels' powers, responsibilities, and duties. The archangels kept order, and assigned tasks to groups known as garrisons, to which there was a leader. Angels had to obey their superiors; for disobedience was akin to the sin of the Morning Star, whatever the flying Antichrist that was supposed to mean, Kevin couldn't fathom. Then, there were seraphs and cherubim-

"Kevin?"

Kevin jumped. He hadn't heard Dean approach.

"Hey, Dean," he said.

"Not Dean," Dean said. Kevin turned around. Sure enough, the man in his door frame was not Dean. Sam raised an eyebrow before getting to the point. "Listen, uh, I was wondering if, um..." Sam bit his thumbnail.

"Yeah?" Kevin asked tentatively. He was making some progress this morning, and he was anxious to return to work.

"Um, Cas is asleep, Dean and Charlie are out, and I don't know where Crowley is, so..."

"What's up?" Kevin asked. Sam being awkward was not something he was used to. He was used to Sam being bat-shit insane, sick as a dog, or just ready to roll, chomping at the bit to get back to whatever he and Dean were doing, chasing down, or otherwise trying to accomplish. He had barely spent any time alone with the younger Winchester.

"I have a date," Sam blurted.

"You go, Sam," Kevin said, amused at Sam's sheepishness.

"I just- I can't find anyone, and I didn't want people to worry that I was taken by, like, angry angels or demons or something- and I-"

"Sam. Slow down," the prophet commanded. He was really enjoying seeing Sam so flustered for some reason. Nothing more than a little camaraderie, and besides, it was good to see him not choking on his own blood and stuff like that.

"So if they ask you'll let them know?" Sam wondered.

"Of course. Who's the lucky young maiden?"

"Her name is Marin, and she knows about what we do," Sam said.

"How did you manage to swing that? I sort of got the impression that anyone you told about ghosts and stuff died within a few days," Kevin said. Sam looked immensely guilty for a moment before realizing that the prophet's face was filled with mirth rather than malice.

"I just rid her of an angry spirit about a year ago," Sam said, remembering the days he had gone without sleep, bombarded by Lucifer's constant cacophony of auditory torture, and how Marin had simply offered a candy bar and her companionship.

"And she just happened to be in town?" Kevin prodded, trying to get Sam to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had sought her out.

"Yeah, actually, it was really odd," Sam said. "Like, the timing and everything. And I think we did the ghost brother thing back in, like, Michigan or something," he continued, pondering.

"Strange," Kevin dead-panned. "Sam, have you ever been told that you read into these things too much? I mean, girl. Date. Simple," he said.

"I guess you're right. Hey, I got to go, it's almost seven-thirty," Sam said.

"Seven...thirty?" Kevin repeated.

"Yeah. Seven thirty. The date's at eight fifteen, I have to run," Sam said, panicking visibly as he scampered back down the hallway.

"Anytime, man," Kevin said to the empty door frame.

He looked at his watch, unsure of what to think. Seven twenty-eight, it read. _Odd_. When he had woken up, it was nine...

He noticed that his back was sore, and his head was aching. He reached for the Thermos of coffee, but it was long since depleted. Stumbling out into the hallway, he shook his head.

_Time sure flew when you were working your ass off at a job you hated._

Sam rung the doorbell to Marin's third-floor apartment, feeling anxious and sort of ridiculous. Pursuing romance was another one of those things mangled and maimed beyond recognition due to their way of life. Sam had always sort of been tossed from place to place, and taking someone out to dinner was such a rare occurrence that it felt as alien to him as, well, _aliens_ might feel to someone not in his line of work. He had been out to dinner occasionally, but it was usually to chat up some girl and get her to spill about local lore pertaining to a case. He never really stuck around long enough for dating. There was Jessica, and there was Amelia, and that summed up his entire history of long-term romance.

Slicing open a hell hound, piece of cake.

Evading demons, easy as A. B. C.

Wendigos? He ate 'em for breakfast.

But dating... that was just scary. He found himself wishing for his brother's easy-going smile and irresistible charm, rather than his own, suddenly too-tall body and worn outfit.

_Why don't I have anything nicer than this to wear? What if she wants to go out somewhere fancy and I'm too under-dressed? What if-_

Sam's first-date jittery thoughts were cut off abruptly as Marin opened the door. She was really, really pretty, he realized. The first time they met, she was pale and bandaged, and his observational skills weren't exactly at their prime. Then, they had been in a hospital and all of its weird yellowish lighting that could make a glass of milk look jaundiced. After that, it was a crazy sprint to find Cas. But now, in the ethereal light of the early summer evening, she was gorgeous. Her hair was pulled into a French braid, clearly exposing the burn on her neck. But Sam found it... compelling, somehow, a reminder that Marin was real, corporeal, a person that was a person and not a tool to help solve a case, someone with stories and memories and scars and nightmares and a favorite color and-

"Hi, Sam," Marin said, smiling.

"Hi," Sam said nervously.

Without another word, he offered her his arm, and she took it, smiling at his gentleman-like ways, and they walked off to dinner.

* * *

**So, because my luck is the shittiest luck in the history of lucks, and my immune system is absolute crap, I developed a super-rare complication from the surgery. Basic infection, fever, huge amounts of pain, the usual. Long story short, I have been prescribed some antibiotics and I am likely to spend my sixteenth birthday hunched over in pain.**

**The spinal pain spread to my legs and then to my head and my ribs and now it hurts to breathe and shit. But somehow, my forearms have escaped unaffected, which means that when I'm not huddled in bed or in too much pain to function, I can type. **

**Everything hurts, you guys. Write me some Destiel to take my mind off of this. Bon Iver and Vicodin and last night's episode of ****_Hannibal _****can only get me so far. (OH MY GOD U GUYS POOR WILL GRAHAM I JUST UGH)**

**Why, oh why, did this have to happen after I finished up school? This could have been a great reprieve from the homework and stuff...**

**I do not recommend surgery unless it's necessary because holy mother of Chuck my bone marrow is filled with hell fire and damnation and brimstone and whatever**


	29. Skies

**Everything hurts. Cas's foot pain described below is taken directly from my own life. But they are fixing things and stuff so...**

**...It's like eleven fifty three P. M. I need to sleep before June eight hits.**

* * *

"I thought I might find you here," a low, monotonous voice said. Dean was perched over the side of the concrete entrance to the bunker, above the door, his legs hanging down. Yellow light escaped from the door, until Cas shut it tight behind him, holding the crutches carefully on one arm.

"Sammy's got a date," Dean said, enunciating the_ d_ and the_ t_ sound carefully. Day tuhh.

"Marin," Cas said. He leaned against the side of the bunker, not directly below Dean but about a foot to his right. He sighed, capturing his tongue between his canine teeth as a wave of liquid pain shot up his leg.

"So that's her name," Dean mused. Cas ignored his protesting foot and slid down the wall, his back against the bunker's protective stone front.

"She's a nice girl," Cas said. He listened to the cicadas; the seven year cycle was ending this summer and they were very loud. He squeezed his eyes shut at the agony threatening to send him into a dark black place at the edge of his consciousness.

"You know her?" Dean asked absently, regarding the recycling information on the bottom of his beer bottle.

"We have been acquainted," Cas stated, cutting off a howl that was clawing its way up his throat. It felt as if every bone in his foot had been broken in half, the pieces pulled out, rearranged, glued together, and each little half broken again before being dropped in a pot of boiling oil.

"Small world," Dean intoned.

A minute passed in silence.

"I'm in a lot-" Cas started.

"Do you remember-" Dean said at the same time.

"Sorry," Cas said. "What were you saying?"

"No,no, no, man, you go first," the hunter said, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Please, Dean, I insist," Cas said, drawing blood from the inside of his cheek, considering the iron taste as Dean took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Do you remember..." Dean trailed off.

"Probably," Cas grunted, earning a chuckle from Dean.

"Van Nuys, California," Dean said after the moment passed.

"The warehouse in which you killed Zachariah," Cas confirmed.

"We were standin' outside, broad daylight, and you took your tie off."

Dean gazed at the stars that were beginning to emerge among the brilliant mauve and lavender hues of the evening sky. Cas looked up as well, gazing at the angles of the man's face; his unkempt hair, his nose, his mouth, his chin, the sharp jut of his Adam's apple as he took in the beautiful sight above him.

"I really got to hand it to your father, Cas," Dean said, and the fallen angel could hear the gentle smile in his voice.

"He created much," Cas agreed tentatively.

"The sky, Cas, it's beautiful."

Cas swallowed, something uncomfortably warm bubbling in his chest.

"Most of my father's work is," he agreed, looking up, to the side, where Dean's silhouette was surrounded by an ouroboros of beautiful hues. Periwinkle, lavender, mauve, something Cas had seen described in a magazine as 'dusty rose', pale sherbet orange, ice blue, royal purple, navy, freesia... The colors were endless, the clearing of trees above Dean creating a circle of the beautiful hues, surrounding him like a glorious halo. "Very beautiful," he breathed.

"You... you took off your tie and you handed it to me, or to Sammy, or something," Dean said. "And you had a knife, literally right up your sleeve." Dean tightened his grip on the cement wall beneath him, voice quivering as he continued. "And I watched as you carved that sigil into your chest," he said.

"Dean-" Cas said, a wave of pain distracting him from the beauty of the night.

"Now, I don't know if that was before or after you got your hands on me in that alley, sayin' stuff like, 'I rebelled for this' and what-not. It's all so far past now." Dean looked down, not to his right where Cas sat, but to his muddy boot covered his left foot. The shoelaces dangled, uncertainly, testing the air, swaying and stilling with even the smallest of movements.

"Dean," Cas pleaded. His foot was on fire, he needed help, and finally Dean heard the desperation in his voice-

"You sliced yourself open and carved a sigil into your chest," Dean said. Cas's heart sunk as he realized that Dean hadn't understood his meaning. "And sometime before that, I sent you flyin' away with that selfsame mark, and the pain you were in," Dean said.

"Pain," Cas echoed weakly.

"And yet you did it to yourself. I can't imagine what that must have been like..."

"It hurts," Cas whimpered. Dean nodded, thinking that Cas was remembering the sigils.

"...if it hurt when I did it halfway 'cross the room, how much it had to hurt in your own damn chest..."

"Dean, please-" Cas said, trying not to wail. He had nothing in his system to dull the pain, and it had been steadily growing worse since he woke up about a half an hour previously.

"Cas, are you okay?" Dean asked, suddenly becoming aware that perhaps the fallen angel was not enjoying the brief trip down Memory Lane.

"No, I am_ not fucking okay_," Cas yelled. "Help me," he said, quieter.

Dean stared, unable to process the fact that Cas had_ just dropped an f-bomb_.

"Please, Dean, I need-"

"What do you need, Cas?" Dean straightened his legs, getting ready to drop down next to Cas like a small child clinging to the edge of the deep end in a cold swimming pool. Gingerly, he swung his body down and landed in an awkward parody of the Spider-Man crouch.

"Oh, my God, my leg," Cas said, his voice tightening and rising high above its normal low-pitched tone.

"Cas?" Dean stood up and walked towards the angel, balking at the sight of his ashen face and lolling eyes.

"Please. Dean," Cas whimpered, locking his blue gaze with the hunter's green one.

_Pills_, he mouthed.

Dean swallowed.

"I can't," he said, voice breaking.

"Dean," Cas's voice was strangled.

"I can't," Dean repeated, trying to convince himself. He crouched down next to his friend, offering a hand to hold. Cas took it, the dry warmth of his skin sending shocks up Dean's arm.

"Please," Cas begged. "Please, please, please, please-"

"I can't let you do that to yourself," Dean said. With his other hand, he stroked the side of Cas's face, fingertips lingering on the scratchy beard that was growing there. Images raced through his head as Cas began to cry, gasping at the unrelenting pain.

"Help me," Cas whined, eyes widening, darting frantically around the clearing. His grip on Dean's hand tightened, but Dean just ran his thumb along Cas's skin.

He didn't realize he was crying until something hot and wet spilled onto his cheek, into his own tentative stubble. He shut his eyes, waiting for the bombardment of images to overtake him again.

But there was nothing. He was left alone with Cas's hand and his shallow breaths and the dying sunlight.

"Dean," Cas finally said, his voice filled with the collective agony of his entire ageless existence.

Dean pressed his lips to Cas's ruffled brown hair, gave his hand one last squeeze, and walked into the bunker.

"No," Cas whined at the cicadas who chirped cruelly, continuing their miserable, pointless lives around the fallen man. Cas sobbed, his head in his arms, for the pain in his leg and the sorrow in his heart.

Lifetimes later, there was a hand on his shoulder. The sky was dark, and the only thing he could see was a blurry figure, backed by a dim yellow glow, setting down a little orange bottle and a glass of water before retreating, shoulders slumped, his battle lost.

Cas whispered a silent thanks and opened the bottle, taking a handful of pills and drinking down the water in one swift gulp.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean said, voice full of emotion as he gave Cas a hand up and supported his weight as they walked together into the bunker.

* * *

_"Cas," a voice said behind him. He turned, finding himself suddenly above the bunker, the pain in his foot dissipated completely._

_"Metatron," he hissed as he spied the angel who had betrayed him- and every single angel in existence. Cas _abhorred_ him, mainly because he was an outlet for his own self-hatred, a canal where every thought flowed freely once Dean had convinced him that the angels' plight wasn't his fault._

_"Cas, do you know-"_

_"You do not get to call me Cas," he interrupted, glaring at the sweater-clad angel._

_"Do you know where you are, Cas?" Metatron continued, unperturbed._

_"Leave me alone," Cas seethed. "Let me go back to Dean."_

_"You're here of your own volition, Cas," Metatron stated plainly._

_"That is untrue," Cas said._

_"No. You are dead, Cas, overdosed on Vicodin. You have been human for a matter of weeks and you have already gotten yourself killed!" Metatron was seething, his face red._

_"I don't understand," Cas said._

_"You took the pills. YOU TOOK EIGHTEEN OF THEM, CAS."_

_"Is that too many?"_

_"What kind of story," Metatron hissed, "does it make if you have only been down there for weeks?"_

_"Dean," Cas said suddenly. "Where is Dean?"_

_"Back in the land of the living, you wingless _ape_. He's curled up with you as we speak," Metatron said with a tone of boundless hatred._

_Cas didn't respond._

_"You're going back," the shorter angel declared._

_Still, Cas stayed silent, watching him carefully._

_"Get the story right," Metatron hissed, slamming his hand onto Cas's chest. A burning pain mingled with a blinding light and he was in bed, panting, sitting up, Dean's arm sliding off of his chest._

* * *

"Cas?" Dean grunted, stirring. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Cas whispered.

"You sure? You're really cold," Dean muttered, pulling Cas back down towards the bed and into the warm covers.

"Never better," Cas lied. He laid back down, waiting for Dean's breathing patterns to return to normal. He kissed the hunter's forehead and settled in beside him, thankful that Dean had let him stay the night.

He counted the rises and falls of Dean's chest, unable to keep from shivering.

_I killed myself, he thought. I _killed myself_ and here I am._

Dean's shoulder was warm and Cas fell asleep eventually, savoring the body pressed so close to his own.

"I love you, Dean," he said to the sleeping man before he drifted off. "I won't leave you again."

* * *

**Cas my poor baby let me love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuu**

**Dean you too**

**you guys i can not even bleh okay this is just way way too much for me**


	30. Easy, Uneasy

**HELLO GUYS YES I AM ALIVE WOW IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME okay so I got home today to find everyone's concern and reviews and I just asdfghghjkl; you guys I love you. You know how when you are about to undergo a procedure (Chuck forbid) and they list the super rare complications and statistics to match? Well, only like one in 10,000 react poorly to this procedure. My cerebrospinal fluid started draining into my body and the glands that I can't remember the names of basically went into workaholic mode and all of my energy was being used replacing it, so more was forced into my bloodstream and it was messing with my antibodies and my brain was swelling and just general blergh-ness. There's a reason cerebrospinal fluid stays in the cerebrospinal area and not the bloodstream. But I was put on all sorts of medications and IVs and monitors and I got a transfusion! Somebody else's blood is mingling in my veins, you guys. I feel like a vampire. Or something. I don't know. But I have to be monitored closely (think Will Graham if Hannibal wasn't a huge douche. A huge, adorable, Hello Kitty-esque douche.)**

_**Hannibal**_** makes encephalitis look fun, kiddoes, but it's a piece of poo. Trained professionals only and stuff. Don't try this at home. Adult supervision required. Closed course with professional drivers. Enlarged to show detail. Many will enter, few will win.**

**Wow okay that was long-winded**

**So the good news is 9,999 of you can go have the surgery without complications okay I am Jesus I surgeried for yo sins**

**Ah, and lastly, I have over ten K words of just fluffy Destiel times that I have to comb through because most of it is nonsensical. They put you on painkillers and all sorts of crazy fun sshit but no sleeping meds which means I had hours and hours and hours and hours to kill during my transfusion and IVs and lumbar puncture and things. I had my sister's iPad (which she got from my grandmother. For graduating middle school. Middle school. Not a doctoral program or even college. Middle school. I didn't even get taken out to dinner.) to write with because she broke curfew and came home at like three in the morning BUT ANYWAYS I AM BETTER AND NOW I HAVE A SUMMER TO FUCK AROUND ONLINE SO but I might not actually be better so we shall see. If I don't update for a while I promise I am not dead; I'm just being punished or having ridiculous medical stuff.**

**Thank you guys so much for your support, it makes me so so so happy. Keep on Destielin'**

* * *

Dean drifted into wakefulness slowly, in waves. He was aware of Cas's presence before anything else, and he wasn't shocked or disgusted or even bemused to find his own body wrapped around the fallen angel's. Cas was breathing slowly and evenly, and his eyes were still closed. He shifted, nestling in closer to Dean's chest, and Dean rested his forehead between his shoulder blades realizing that his arms were wrapped around Cas's chest and one of the fallen angel's hands gripped his tightly.

The memory of what had happened the previous night didn't hit him like a wrecking ball hits a building, either, it was just something in the back of his mind to be rewound and recorded over, a low-quality cassette tape thrown in the back of a locked closet. He had bowed down to his fears and given Cas the drugs, letting him take control of his own well-being for now. It was a blind leap of faith, but Dean hoped that maybe that trust would eventually turn into a good thing. He had allowed himself to collapse next to Cas when they got back to his room, and he held the fallen angel as he cried himself to sleep.

And Cas was still here, right? In the end, that was all that mattered. Dean and Cas.

Dean realized suddenly that Cas smelled good. Not in the fruity, Tres Semme manner that some girls smelled, or the exotic scent of Chanel No. Five that most of the remainder carried around with them. Cas smelled like the color navy, deep and strong and achingly masculine, overwhelmingly beautiful. It was intoxicating, really, and Dean could lie in bed all day just breathing him in.

It was a long time before Cas woke up, or maybe it was a matter of minutes. When Dean became aware of the fact that his angel was conscious, he got the unnerving feeling that he had been awake all night.

_That's ridiculous, Dean, shake it off._

"Morning," Dean told the angel's shoulder blades.

"Hi," Cas said, his voice low and scratchy from crying last night. His back resonated with the sound and Dean wished there was some more space between them so he could curl up closer.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked. His feet were curled back so as not to brush against Cas's legs.

No response. Cas squirmed, attempting to escape Dean's tight hold, without much success.

"Cas," Dean groaned. "Stop moving."

Cas sighed heavily and slowly maneuvered his way around so that he was facing Dean.

"Better," Dean said, gazing fondly at the angel's face. His hair was absolutely everywhere, standing out in all directions; his eyes bleary with sleep, or lack thereof.

"I do not enjoy having hair on my face," Cas grumbled. "It is scratchy and irritating."

"I'll teach you to shave, then," Dean said, smiling as he imagined the sheer silliness that might transpire.

A bleary-eyed Cas, with his face covered in foam? I really need to invest in a video camera at some point.

"Only if you do it first," Cas said.

"What, you don't want a razor blade up close to your neck?"

"No, I don't," Cas said. He was spacing out, not looking at anything in particular.

"You okay, man?" Dean asked.

"Bad dream," Cas said, attempting to smile but producing a miserable parody instead.

"It was just a dream, you know that, right?" Dean was in a good mood, and didn't want to think that Cas wasn't.

"Of course," Cas said blithely, finally struggling free of Dean's grasp and swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

"Ca-as," Dean murmured. "Where you going?"

"I believe we have a shaving lesson scheduled?"

"Oh, you meant _this_ decade," Dean groaned, forcing himself up out of bed and following Cas into the bathroom.

_Holy shit._

_Cas_ walked_ away. Walked into the bathroom._

"Coming, Dean?"

Dean had stopped short, staring at the fallen angel as he walked- _walked-_ up the hall.

"Cas," he finally croaked, "Cas, where's your cast?"

Cas looked down, alarm and remorse on his face.

"My leg is better," he said, regarding his foot as if he had forgotten it had ever been hurting. "That's good, right?" He looked at Dean for conformation, unable to squash the rising levels of panic in his chest.

"How?" Dean asked. "You had one went we went to bed," he said. "You definitely did."

Cas couldn't breathe for a moment.

"Dean..."

"What's the matter?" Dean shook off the weirdness and went to go stand by Cas.

"I was healed last night," he said, and rather than being glad, his eyes were filled with scared tears.

"Healed- by what?" Dean scrutinized him carefully.

"Please, just let it go," Cas whispered, finally coming to a horrible realization. If his leg was fixed, then he wouldn't need the pills anymore...

The pills.

"Cas, you-"

"Please, Dean, I need you to trust me," Cas said.

Cas could never, ever admit to Dean what had happened last night. He knew the world-weary hunter well enough to know that he would blame himself beyond any hope of forgiveness.

Dean's eyes darted around the angel's face, trying to comprehend.

"Help me with my face, please," Cas said, trying to shake off the topic.

"Sure, Cas," Dean said, but he was still uneasy.

_Just _trust _him._


	31. Shaving Grace

**BREE BREE BREE WARNING WARNING AUTHOR IS FLAILING ON GROUNG CRYING BECAUSE STORY HAS REACHED ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY FOLLOWERS AND THIRTY CHAPTERS AND FORTY THREE THOUSAND WORDS AND AUTHOR WISHES TO INFORM ALL STAR FLEET OFFICIALS THAT SHE 'CAN NOT PERFORM ORDINARY DUTIES BECAUSE SHE IS TOO AFFECTED BY FEELS' WHICH IS TO SAY SHE 'CAN NOT EVEN ASDFGHJKL; YOU GUYS I JUST OENAAOENAOTN AIHBGFAIEPFAEFNBA;' REPEAT: AUTHOR IS FLAILING ON GROUNG CRYING BECAUSE STORY HAS REACHED ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY FOLLOWERS AND THIRTY CHAPTERS AND FORTY THREE THOUSAND WORDS AND AUTHOR WISHES TO INFORM ALL STAR FLEET OFFICIALS THAT SHE 'CAN NOT PERFORM ORDINARY DUTIES BECAUSE SHE IS TOO AFFECTED BY FEELS' WHICH IS TO SAY SHE 'CAN NOT EVEN ASDFGHJKL; YOU GUYS I JUST OENAAOENAOTN AIHBGFAIEPFAEFNBA;' WARNING OVER BREE BREE BREE**

**doctor sexy report to med bay stat**

**i do not even know what just happened there oops just go with it okay**

* * *

Dean couldn't remember actually learning how to shave. He sort of remembered being a kid and_ not_ shaving and then sort of being an older kid and_ shaving _and then keeping at it ever since. It was just something He knew for a fact that he had taught Sam, but that was over a decade ago and he didn't remember the process beyond a rusty, shoplifted can of gel and a shared razor on some bloody paper towels, barely substantial even for a life on the road. But he had a home here with Cas, and as much as it hurt him to recall how little he and Sam had had in their boyhood, it was Cas's first time doing everything and Dean wanted to make it as seamless as possible. He had a two pack of razors, not the disposable kind, but the nice ones with interchangeable blades he had bought at Target, intending to share with Sam, but he later realized that Crowley had purchased an economy pack of disposables that Kevin, Sam and the ex-demon all drew from. His were brand new, unused and sharp, and he was reluctant to bring them close to Cas's neck.

An idea hit him.

"Cas, I just thought of something. Wait right here, okay?" Dean scampered off to retrieve whatever it was he was planning.

"Not going anywhere, Dean," Cas told the tiles on the floor.

A few minutes later, Dean returned with a triumphant grin on his face and something covered in pink plastic packaging depicting a bikini-clad twenty-something lounging on a pristine beach, the sun hitting her tan perfectly and accentuating her laughing face.

"Leg razors," he said, grinning. "They are less sharp and dangerous, plus your face will be softer. Got 'em from Charlie."

"I like your smile," Cas blurted, which made Dean blush- no, men didn't blush- and turn pink.

"I'll go first. Though, I must say, I have never used a-" he regarded the package carefully- "Gillette Venus before."

"Nor have I," Cas confided. Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Okay. Pink razor. And I thought I couldn't get any less manly," Dean grumbled jokingly, ripping apart the package unnecessarily violently. Twelve pink razors flew through the air and skittered across the bathroom, fleeing to corners and under things like spiders. Cas grinned.

They managed to recover only eight of the razors, four of them more lost than a teeny fishing boat in the Bermuda Triangle.

Dean labeled one razor_ C_ for Cas and one_ D_ for Dean.

"Showing my solidarity," he said when Cas pointed out that it was safe for him to shave with a man's blade.

"You're not worried that Sam will abscond you?"

"Oh, I_ know_ he will. But I've got better ammo. Archangel-strength ammo, you might even say," Dean chuckled without elaborating. He wet his hands and squirted the shaving gel into them, working the clear liquid into a thick white lather, enjoying the wonder on Cas's face at the simple chemical reaction.

He rambled about shaving to Cas as he guided the pink razor across his face, talking about the best ways to reach the inconvenient places. Cas watched carefully, violating Dean's personal space, but the hunter didn't mind. anymore When he finished rattling off as much as he knew, he stood awkwardly, driving the razor through the sea of thick foam across his neck. It was odd describing to someone something so routine. Dean realized with a pang that most boys probably watched their fathers shave for years until they joined in, receiving careful instructions from their dads as they attempted shaving for the first time.

Neither man had gotten that.

Cas was never meant to shave; Dean was never meant to go on the road and teach himself to be an adult.

Dean blinked, trying to clear away the sadness that crept up unexpectedly.

_Damn it, Winchester, only you could turn a the morning shave into something emotional._

"You should have seen the Egyptians and their beards," Cas said, breaking the silence for once. "One of the pharaohs had a special team to attend to his facial hair." He smiled at the memory. "He was neurotic."

Dean allowed himself to regard Cas in the mirror for a moment. He often forgot how ancient Cas was, older than the dinosaurs and the Earth and the mountains and the pyramids and the Californian Redwood forests and anything Dean considered old.

And yet here he was, in Dean's personal space. _Belonging_ in Dean's personal space. Watching him shave, sharing this quiet and intimate experience as a human.

Dean swallowed and focused on chasing away the last bit of cream with his pink razor, rinsed his face, and splashed on some aftershave.

A brief, crazy, kamikaze thought flickered into his head: he would need to teach Cas to shower, to clean himself, and he couldn't bring himself to meet that intense blue gaze for a minute as he banished the anxious warmth from his stomach, clearing his throat.

"Cas, have you, uh, actually, um, you know..." Dean waved his hand towards the shower.

"I was unable to bathe in the duration of my time as a human," Cas admitted. "I intended to, but then there was the attack, and my cast..."

"Mmm," Dean responded, trying to ignore the way Cas's deep voice affected him. It sent shivers down his spine and heat throughout his whole body-

_Focus, Dean._

"Your turn," he managed to say finally.

Cas wet his hands and held them out for some shaving cream. Dean took the bottle in both of his own and made a precise job of pouring out some gel, fighting a battle every time his skin brushed against Cas's.

A battle he was losing as if he was going up against all of Star Fleet with a Revolutionary War shotgun and marshmallows for ammo.

He surrendered, taking Cas's hands in his own and rubbing the gel into foam. The air was supercharged with tension, Cas never taking his eyes off of Dean's face, Dean never taking his off of their hands.

Cas finally looked at their hands, realizing that they were completely immersed in the shave gel.

"Now what?"

Dean motioned to his own face, miming out the action of spreading gel all over it. Cas placed his hands on his cheeks, effectively covering the entire area where he didn't need to shave.

"No, around here," Dean said, unable to stop himself from reaching his hands up and giving Cas a huge white Santa Claus beard.

"Dean," Cas said eventually.

"Yeah?"

"I think you can take your hands off of my face now," Cas said uncertainly.

"Right. Um. Of course."

Dean swallowed thickly. Every cell in his body was coiled with pent-up energy, a current flowing between him and Cas and the air was too thin and too thick and he cursed the biological mechanisms that created the need for shaving.

Dean once again returned his focus wholly to the task in front of him. He ran the razor under the water and mentally ran through the different ways he could go about this. He could stand behind Cas, guiding his hands, or he could stand next to him-

"That razor has a D on it," Cas said.

Dean chuckled nervously and looked down. Sure enough, he was about to give Cas his own razor. Shaking his head he switched them and rinsed off Cas's blade. He stood across from Cas, steadying his hand, and he simply pretended that he was shaving his mirror image. It worked pretty well, and all too quickly the left half of the angel's face was clean.

"Why don't you give it a try," Dean suggested, lightheaded, giving Cas the razor and steadying himself on the sink. Cas stood next to him and looked in the mirror, poising the razor above his right cheek and sliding it through the thick stubble. All went well, the air as thick-bodied and full as the fluffy white shaving cream, every little bit of attention focused on Cas's face.

Finally, the fallen angel finished his face and moved on to his chin, moving through his beard and removing almost all of it without problem.

Then, he moved to the spot where his jaw met his neck, and clumsily attempted to find a surface parallel to the blade. He sliced open a small cut by his jaw as the blade slipped sideways, gliding painfully under the sensitive layer of skin.

Cas winced at the sudden stinging as blood rushed to the two perfect lines on his skin. He turned to Dean, panic in his eyes at the red beads that gathered and finally cascaded down his neck. They looked oddly like vampire bites. Dean grabbed a paper towel and pressed it to the side of the fallen angel's face.

"I do not like being human," Cas stated, his voice breaking.

Dean wanted to scream at the helplessness of the situation. Cas, his Cas, his guardian angel, a soldier of God, who had been brave enough to sic a fiery bomb on Michael, to stand up to Lucifer and Raphael, to open up Purgatory and sew it shut again. His _Cas_, defeated by something as insignificant and small and_ fucking stupid_ as a pink plastic disposable razor.

He stood still, his hand holding the paper towel to the fallen angel's cut. Cas, moving as if in a dream, placed his own calloused hand over Dean's.

Being drawn together like magnets of opposing fields was perhaps cheesy and cliche, but that was exactly how Dean felt at the moment. Cas flickered his tongue over his chapped, pink lips, staring at Dean's mouth before flickering his gaze up to meet the hunter's green eyes, longing clouding his blue gaze.

The corner of Dean's mouth turned upwards as he looked at his angel. There was barely any blue left to see, his pupils were so dilated. There was a spark of panic in his gaze; unsure and wanting but so afraid to mess up and Dean had never wanted to be close to someone so much in his whole life and then his other hand was in that unruly brown hair that _constantly_ looked like he had just had sex and he was so close to his lips and Cas was grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him closer, impossibly close-

"Cas?"

Someone's voice sounded from the hallway, and it was as if they were suddenly composed of the same magnets, jumping apart guiltily and gazing everywhere but each other. They had been so close, so_ infuriatingly close_...

Dean smiled sadly, his chest still aching with the desire to grab Cas and kiss him until he died.

"Cas?" Kevin's voice was getting closer, and the moment was effectively broken.

"I should go see what he wants-"

"Better go make sure it isn't important-"

"Thank you for teaching me to shave-"'

"Try not to let your beard grow in too quickly-"

Their voices collided into each other, each scrambling to break the tension.

"Cas, are you in there?" Kevin called. "I need to talk to you."

"Coming, Kevin," Cas said reluctantly, walking deliberately around Dean, his hand lingering next to Dean's.

"Cas, wait," Dean said. Cas turned, the emotion in his blue eyes guarded and unreachable. "You have some shaving cream," Dean said, holding the side of his face, brushing his thumb gently across Cas's cheekbone before the fallen angel blinked and followed Kevin's voice into the hallway.

Dean, feeling lightheaded and dazed, wandered back to his bedroom, sitting on the bed and looking down at his hands where he'd brushed away the nonexistent bit of shaving cream.

He smiled as he got changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, allowing himself to feel like a seventh-grade girl for a while.

_What the hell. Why not?_

* * *

Kevin, still feeling like he was in a trance as an effect of the translating, sort of thought that he had been interrupting something, but he needed to tell Cas this. He waited impatiently for the angel to float his way towards Kevin's desk.

"Wake up, Cas," he said. "I've been reading about the angel-to-human conversion spell, and it's actually really small-scale.

"Metatron, I- I think he modified it to affect all of the angels. In the version it says here, you need blood from a nephilim, a feather from a cupid, and the blood of an angel in love. The link all has to do with love. Nephilim, the product of an unholy relationship between an angel and a human. Cupid, the archers that create it. And-"

"Blood from an abomination," Cas said. "An angel, falling, because he fell for a human."

"Metatron used the heart of a nephilim- the organ in charge of blood, and in classic mythology the location of love. He took a cupid's bow, which produces love, rather than a feather, which simply accelerates it.

"Finally, he took your grace," Kevin finished.

"Oh, my God," Cas said.

"The third step," Kevin said. "Now go away so I can look for how reversing the steps works," he commanded, pushing the shell-shocked angel back towards the hallway.

* * *

**Damn it Kevin you are just as bad as Sam running around cock-blocking more than a spay-neuter clinic**

**Okay that comparison was weird but now I may have to write it into dialogue**

**So, to research for this chapter, I had to watch a YouTube video where this guy recorded himself shaving and put it in slow motion. A good resource, I suppose, but who wakes up and thinks, ****_I think I shall record a video of me removing coarse dead cells from my face with a sharp thing and put it online in case people like to watch it for shits and giggles oh boy what fun_****...?**

**So then, being a magnet for all things awkward and TMI-ful, I accidentally stumbled into a website for people with a razor kink.**

**A razor kink. **

**I guess searching 'close-up video of adult male shaving slowly' was sort of asking for it I mean come on that sentence is just too dirty you guys and now Google thinks I have a serious razor kink. What the hell kind of kink is that? Ooh, I am so turned on by your face covered in fluffy clouds and driving metal through it? **

**Fuck, now half of me wants to see someone apply it to a Destiel fic. GOD HELP ME YOU GUYS I AM JUST TOO WEIRD TO FUNCTION AND I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT**

**Wait I get it now. Aftershave smells fucking fuck-worthy and maybe it's a prelude to the sense and I don't know sex sex sex razors Deancas why can't leg shaving be fun like the girls in commercials are so happy **

**OH MY GOD THEY HAVE RAZOR KINK**

**and now I am being about as helpful as a level two Magicarp up against Team Rocket so I will shut up bye**


	32. Navigation Conflicts

**Dean I moustache you a question**

**No, Cas, you must shave it for later!111111**

**Aasdgsfehdkgfds;la;lds;alsda;slda;lsf;eglerg;qwrbg ;legb;erlgqe;rglqe;rlg;vle;lv;**

**My heart is fried, like the Ke$Ha song dear god save meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**

**I was on granola withdrawal when I wrote this so**

**But I figured that some fluffiness was needed yayayay it only took me thirty two chapters**

* * *

"Dean, can I talk to you for a moment?" Cas asked.

"Mmghmmph," Dean said through a mouthful of ham sandwhich, earning a disgusted gaze from Sam.

"Chew your food, Charlotte," the younger brother admonished.

"Wasn't Charlotte actually the spider? The pig was Wilbur or something," Crowley mused. Sam squinted at him.

"And you know that _how_?" Crowley shrugged.

"I, uh..."

"Whatever. Point is, Dean needs to chew."

"Gideaahgh," Dean said indignantly.

"No, Dean, you did not-"

"Please, Dean," Cas said.

"Gfingh. Irghlbe rghthgh thr."

"He says that he will be right there," Sam translated, his lip curled back at the elder Winchester's antics. But he was pleased that Dean wasn't being a surly and skittish anymore.

Cas rifled through the refrigerator, settling finally on a can of cream soda. He walked back towards Dean's room and sat on the foot of the bed, sipping his soft drink rather daintily.

"What's up?" Dean asked, following Cas into the room, drinking his own half-finished Mountain Dew.

Cas was suddenly nervous.

"How do you deal with this stuff?" He asked, looking absently at his soda.

"How do I deal with cream soda?" Dean asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"No," Cas said. "Feelings and stuff. There are just too many to keep straight."

"You are asking the worst possible person how to deal with emotions. You would get a more sensical response from a knife-wielding sociopath," Dean said, finishing his Mountain Dew.

"Dean, that's not true," Cas said.

"Nah, man, it's true. This is like asking a pre-kindergartener how to apply nuclear astrophysics to a potted plant."

"But I don't need to know how to apply nuclear-"

"Bad analogy. Never mind."

"I think you are well versed in emotions," Cas continued earnestly. "I used to be able to see your soul."

"Was it Cover girl worthy?" Dean asked. He batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

"I don't understand," Cas said, tilting his head.

"Never mind." Dean smiled. "Just keep talking."

"Kevin told me something," Cas blurted, then widened his eyes as he realized he hadn't eased his way into the news as he had expected.

"Okay," Dean said cautiously, watching Cas down the rest of his cream soda in one swift gulp, tipping his head back to expose that perfect, unmarked neck-

"Metatron used my grace because I was in love with you," Cas mumbled.

"I- uh, what?" Dean blinked.

"The nephilim was a product of love between a human and an angel," Cas said, pronouncing the words carefully, as if around a mouthful of shattered glass. "The cupid was an angel spreading love amongst the humans."

"I don't get it," Dean said after a beat. Cas wrung his hands.

"Metatron knew. Metatron saw my weakness and he used against me." Cas wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Metatron knew what?" Dean questioned softly.

"He knew that. Um. That I am. That I was, um, had feelings, for. You," Cas stuttered slowly.

"What does that have to do with the-"

"He saw that I loved you and he took my tainted grace for the spell," Cas spat. "I should have made the connection. I should have seen what he was trying to do. I shouldn't have let myself fall-"

"Cas. Cas, slow down," Dean urged.

"I love you," Cas said as gravely as if he were condemning someone to death. Dean's breath hitched in his chest.

"Cas, I-"

"You want to know why my cast is gone? Why my leg is healed?" Cas twirled the now-empty can of cream soda in his hands nervously.

"I trust you," Dean assured him. "If you say that you don't need me to know, then I-"

"You can't trust me," Cas said his voice breaking.

"Cas, what are you talking about?" Dean asked, moving closer to Cas and taking the can of soda from his hands, setting it on the floor. He took one of Cas's hands in his.

"My love for you broke Heaven and I died last night," Cas said abruptly.

"You...died?" Dean asked.

"I was wrong. I couldn't handle the pills." Cas rubbed his cut from the shaving incident absentmindedly.

"How many did you take?" Dean asked quietly, feeling like he was coaxing a stage fright-ridden child to come out from under a table and perform in a ballet recital naked.

"All but four," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Cas, that's- that's eighteen pills," Dean said, his face filled with heartache.

"Yeah," Cas said. "The pain didn't stop so I kept taking them and they shut down my body," he said shakily. He pulled his hand away from Dean and went to go curl up under the covers, a tight little ball, afraid to see the hunter's reaction. He expected him to run away, to exclaim in disgust or hit him again, and he buried his face in the pillow, a hollow ache creeping through his chest, making it hard to breathe.

But Dean crawled across the bed and laid down next to Cas, pulling the covers up over both of them.

"Cas. I'm not going to lie, it makes me really sad... what happened last night," Dean said, voice so soft Cas could barely make out the words. "But you're here now. With me."

"I cast everyone out. You don't deserve to be stuck with me," Cas said.

"Cut the self pity. If I didn't want you around, you wouldn't be lying in bed with me."

"But I-"

"Cas. If I fall in love with a guy, then you can be damn sure that he's the best guy on the whole damn planet," Dean reassured him. "I don't care how much you've messed shit up. I started the apocalypse. You can't really get much worse than that."

"That was sort of an ass-butt move," Cas agreed.

"I am the King of the Ass-butts. Revel in my heinous glory," Dean commanded, earning a small laugh from the angel.

"Well, that effectively makes me Queen of the Ass-butts," Cas said. He rolled over, allowing himself the simple pleasure of looking at Dean's face.

"No," Dean said. "You're too pretty to belong to such an unappealing tribe."

"So are you," Cas responded.

"Hey. I'm the manliest man ever to walk the planet." Dean smiled. "'M not 'pretty'."

"I think using a woman's razor negates the effect," Cas said, tracing his thumb across the hunter's face.

"I am so manly that a mere triviality such as that cannot bring down my levels of manliness." Dean was cheered by the angel's lighter mood. Cas meeting his gaze and wearing a tiny smile was infinitely better than a sad, self-loathing Cas. It made Dean feel ill watching the fallen angel wrestle with himself, closing the door on the rest of the world, which was admittedly one of Dean's prime tactics. But to be on the receiving end was awful, and Dean would do anything to pull Cas away from himself.

"Whatever, Dean. You're still pretty." Cas blinked slowly, his gaze unwavering._ He is being totally serious_, Dean realized, and he felt a his face warm up at such uninhibited praise. He liked it much more than he would admit.

"That is decidedly un-manly," Dean said eventually.

"I still like you," Cas assured him seriously. Dean's cheeks were burning now. He felt a surge of affection for the fallen angel and smiled.

"Good. You're not allowed to like anyone else."

They lay in silence for a while, watching each other breathe. Dean loved being tangled up together much more than he ever thought he would. Man or not, cuddling with Cas felt awesome. Like home.

"Do you ever wish I'd taken a female form?" Cas wondered as if on cue.

"What makes you say that?" The happy Cas was quickly slipping away.

"It would have been easier," Cas said.

"Good things are never easy," Dean said. I love you, Cas, stop this.

"Except for buying soda," Cas responded solemnly. "That is fairly unchallenging. And very good."

"There is that." Dean shifted closer into Cas. "Besides, I sort of like that you're a guy."

"Why?"

"Because... I don't know. Because you wouldn't be you as a girl. You'd have different eyes and a different voice and it wouldn't be right. You're special, the only guy, and I honestly like that. You and I are more than anything I've ever had, and being a man sets you apart," Dean rambled, not even realizing he had felt this way until he had told Cas.

"But you are not gay." Cas looked legitimately confused, like Dean expected one and three to start making five.

"No, I'm not," Dean agreed. "I am straighter than a ruler. Which means you're the only man in all of creation who I'd even look at twice. So there," he said.

"It's weird, having a gender," Cas mused. "Very bizarre, like if suddenly you found yourself two feet taller or with no feet."

"I always forget you were both Adam and Eve. You just seem... I don't know. Man."

"Why?" Cas was not becoming less confused.

"Because you were..." Dean thought for a moment. "I think because I would never allow my sister to fight monsters. You're more of a brother. But not, you know, 'cause that would make things weird." _Like those Supernatural slash fans._

"I am almost certain that was sexist," Cas said.

"No, it's just... I couldn't see myself letting a girl go up against some of the stuff we face."

"If your previous statement was not sexist then this one is." Cas gave him a disapproving look.

"Women have a lot more physical weaknesses. All sexism aside, even my yeti of a brother gets knocked around like an ugly rock on a regular basis." Dean couldn't meet Cas's eyes.

"You lost someone on a hunt. A girl," he reasoned.

"Jo. She was so small." Dean's gaze darkened with grief. "Got tangled up in the Winchester brothers' terrible habit of getting every fucking person we care about killed."

"She was very small," Cas agreed. Dean regarded him closely.

"Cas, do you-"

"I watch out for your loved ones," he said guiltily. "I'm not allowed to save them, but I can be with them in their final moments." Cas paled. "I used to, at least."

"Did we even know you when Jo and Ellen passed?"

"I do not know. It's a bit blurry around the Apocalypse. And for me, time was fluid, especially when my life was centered around protecting one thing. I was sort of in a few years at once? I don't know. It's hard to explain." Cas's face was troubled.

"You're forgetting the Apocalypse?" Dean asked gently.

"I remember we started it, and then-"

"Cas," Dean interrupted. "Look at me." He gently guided Cas's head up. "Sam and I sprung the trap. You cleaned it up with us. Remember?"

"Yes. I think so. It just feels like I've known you guys forever." Cas thought for a minute. "It's difficult to ascertain what life was without you. Like I lost track of where you stop and I start. I don't know how I functioned before you."

Dean considered this for a moment.

"Wow. Um, me too." It was true. He had five constants in his life: protecting Sammy, fighting more evil than Captain America, alcohol, the Impala, and praying to Cas. He could barely remember what it had been like before Cas had come into his life. Memories of Dean and John and Sam or Dean and John or Dean and Sam seemed empty somehow, like a photograph of yourself that you can't remember being taken.

"I was a multi-wavelength-"

"Celestial intent, I know." Dean didn't want to linger in the 'was an angel' area for too long.

"I was sort of in a whole bunch of times at once. It's difficult to explain. Sort of like a dragonfly eye."

"Dragonfly eye," Dean repeated dumbly.

_"...the dragonfly eye of group mentality..."_

_"...don't ever change..."_

"Yes, with all of its many compartments. We can- could- muffle what we didn't want to perceive."

"That sounds confusing." Dean desperately searching for somewhere else to take the conversation.

"A fish would be likely to find a passenger airplane difficult to navigate."

"I am trying hard to ignore the fact that you equated me to a fish." Dean tried his best to look offended.

"I'm a fish too now, remember?"

_At least his extended metaphor skills are improving,_ Dean thought.

"You'd make a good Dory," Dean mused.

"I would rather be a starfish," Cas said.

"Patrick, then."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Dean smiled softly, imagining Cas watching SpongeBob SquarePants. He could just picture Cas finding hidden meanings in everything. He wondered who would be Jesus. That Larry guy maybe. He was pretty chill.

I have spent way too much time watching television in motels, Dean realized. Do I even bother to change the channel anymore?

Cas was squinting at him, probably trying to remember how starfish related to the name Patrick. He bit his lip absently. Dean made a mental note to remind him that he wasn't supposed to stare at people.

"I don't really think you're a fish," he finally settled on. Dean smiled widely. Cas was just so...Cas. Cas's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What are you smiling at?"

"You," Dean stated simply.

"In a good way?"

"Yeah, Cas. In a good way."

"Okay," he said quietly. Without being able to pick up on Dean's subconscious, invisible emotional cues, a smile could signal anything and everything from a predatory grin to a demeaning smirk to the beginning of a violent seizure. He didn't want Dean to become annoyed with anymore questions, so he decided to let it go. But the lingering uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Dean elaborated.

"I just really like you. And you make me happy." Dean exhaled slowly. "Spending time with you, like this. It's really really nice. Just talking about random stuff, you know? I..." Dean trailed off, distracted by Cas's face. He was overcome with the urge to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Or in heaven. He caressed Cas's face gently. His speech capacities were waning.

Cas's features echoed Dean's unintelligible feelings. He watched the hunter carefully, blue eyes searching. Confusion began to drift into his gaze again, and he frowned.

"Cas?" Dean said softly. "What's that face for?"

"Nothing," Cas stated hastily. His cheeks reddened and he looked away.

"Ca-as," he chided gently. "You can tell me."

Cas allowed himself to glance up at Dean again, but tore his gaze away when green eyes met blue.

"Nothing, really," he muttered unconvincingly.

"Please tell me?" Dean begged.

"I. Um." Cas swallowed thickly. "I was. I." He looked away, embarrassed at his fumbling words.

"You were what?" Dean traced his angel's cheekbone with his fingertips.

"I was wondering," Cas tried again, but his body had decided to forget its ability for speech. "Ahm. I. Dean?"

Affection was threatening to stop Dean's heart. He was brave enough to blow up an archangel, but too shy to talk to him. It was endearing as- as everything Cas did: mixing up his metaphors and that tiny head tilt when he didn't understand and his formal speech patterns and pretty blue eyes.

"Cas?" Dean said, nudging gently the fallen angel with his knee, urging him to continue. He found himself staring at Cas's mouth, taking in the sight of his chapped lips, wondering what they would be like against his own. "Go on," he prodded.

"I was..." Cas mustered up his last shred of courage. "I was wondering if I might have permission to kiss you," he blurted finally, looking at the hunter's green eyes as they flickered up to meet his. Dean looked frozen, and Cas knew he should have kept quiet.

"Um, yes," Dean mumbled, every cell in his body ordering him to get closer to Cas. It felt like his soul was already intertwined with Cas and his body ached at being left behind. Cas was so infuriatingly beautiful. The blue of his eyes reminded Dean of a lake he had seen nestled between some Pennsylvania mountains, hidden from view unless you were lost and wandering. Blue eyes had always been a compelling feature for Dean and Cas's own were threatening to overwhelm him. He could not remember even once in his lifetime considering, at least consciously, anyone's eyes breathtaking. Cas was just everything at once: extraordinary, special, gorgeous, all of the princes from every fairy tale plus a large dollop of Batman. He had saved Dean so many times, from himself and the occasional monster. Sure, it sounded very Hallmark card, but Dean was complete with Cas by his side, partners in almost every sense of the world. His heart sped up whenever Cas flew into the room, and he had stopped being startled four years ago. The excuse of having an adrenaline rush due to imminent non-human had never really been valid. It was pheromones, affection, love and lust. Dean couldn't think through the cloud of hormones and emotions that raged gale force at the sound of Cas's voice. The deepness made his head spin and holy gods of every religion he was close enough that it fucking resonated in his chest like fireworks.

As Dean watched, Cas inhaled shudderingly. His perfect eyelashes fluttered as he blinked nervously, and his tongue darted out over his chapped lips. Dean closed his own eyes, unable to process the tidal wave of Cas in his bed and his heart and his soul and how fucking much he loved that impossible man.

As soon as the words were out in the air, Cas paused, scared and exited but mostly scared. Dean had kissed so many people in his life and Cas had only pizza-manned one not-person because he wanted to gauge the reactions of his friends- okay, he was seeing how Dean would react. They'd had that thing in the car but somehow this felt much more tangible and deep. Cas felt heat creep across his face as Dean's pupils dilated even more and his heart was beating like he was being attacked by a horde of epileptic drummers on crack cocaine and _how do humans do this_? Cas was about to make the final connection with the man he would do anything for and he had no idea how to do so without messing up. All of those thoughts were hopelessly tangled up in the sheer rawness of experiencing Dean with brand new senses and more emotions than he knew what to do with. Cas had rebuilt Dean from a battered soul and some dirty bones; he knew every freckle and scar and mark as well as he knew the Ten Commandments. He'd bonded with him by accident, in_ Hell_ of all places; forgetting to use an oven mitt when reaching into the flame, so to speak. An angel's grace in its pure form and a wounded soul would connect even with the briefest of touches and Cas had carried Dean out of Hell and spent eons reconstructing him carefully. If a mere brush of souls was powerful, his bond with Dean was a nuclear reactor. He and Dean were literally soul mates, a shiver of grace at the very core of what made Dean Dean, while Cas's soul was grown from the hunter's and added to as he began dabbling with free will and friendship and humans and finally kicked roughly to life when his tainted grace was forced from him. Cas was part Dean and Dean was part Cas and no other beings in creation were ever close enough to be each other.

So how could Cas possibly make Dean understand his devotion and unfathomable love when he had only two half-kisses and a fleeting memory of a pizza man to go on?

Cas hadn't realized how close they were until his forehead was resting against Dean's, their eyes closed, needing each other more than they needed oxygen. The air was thick and heavy, swollen with the cacophonous miscellany of feelings and supercharged with their bond.

There was not anything Cas had ever experienced that came even close to the power of that moment. Not the creation of the planets or the first sunrise or the first supernova.

Not even flying could compete.

Cas had something of his own, a person to love him unconditionally no matter what and to love in turn. He was finally emancipated from heavenly orders, just able to melt into Dean and he couldn't risk messing that up even further than he already had and-

"Cas," Dean breathed, lips grazing across the fallen angel's. His voice was choked with emotion and Cas sighed contentedly. Everything was Dean and Cas and the warmth and the love and this moment hurt it was so perfect.

"Dean," Cas said, his voice equally as affected by the invisible melt-water that roared silently, lifting them up and sweeping them away to the place they should have reached years ago.

"I am in love with you," Dean finally whispered, sounding afraid. "I can't live without you and I need you to know that you're perfect," he continued. Cas opened his eyes, realizing that they were both crying. Cas smiled, a tiny yet powerful gesture mirrored immediately by Dean.

"I-" Cas attempted to respond but he learned that it was hard to speak clearly in times like this. He swallowed, absently licking his lips and biting back a gasp as his bottom lip brushed against Dean's.

"Cas," Dean said again, unable to stop himself. Even the name was beautiful, simple and unique and perfect for him.

"I think-" Cas tried again after a moment of more thick silence. "I think I retained some of your soul when I brought you back to life," he admitted. "I was drained of my grace and-" Cas took a deep breath. "I am yours. I have been since the start."

Dean's smile grew wider against Cas's mouth.

"I," Dean responded slowly. "That handprint, the one you left on my arm. One day, I want it back."

"Your soul holds part of my grace," Cas said. "It was always so- you were always so bright that I couldn't see it, but I- uhm." Cas licked his lips nervously. Dean trembled slightly, unable to cope with how good everything felt. How right and complete and perfect.

"Mh," he sighed, wanting to stay here for eternity, a hand at the nape of Cas's neck and the other across his hips while the angel's fingers rested tauntingly on his chest, absorbing his heartbeat.

"I thought I had drained it by recreating you," Cas said when his voice returned. "But I left it in your soul and it manifested in that scar."

Another supersaturated eternity passed. Cas was having trouble breathing through his tears, let alone attempting to speak again.

"I am a part of you, Dean Winchester, and you are a part of me." His lower lip trembled slightly as he confessed.

"Cas," Dean said, voice echoing his overflowing emotions. "Castiel."

"You are my world." Cas tilted his head, lips grazing his partner's in a ghost of a kiss. "And I love you more than I can ever explain," he finished in a whisper.

"You don't have to try," Dean breathed. "I think I know the feeling."

And finally the words cleared away, making room for a different manner of expression. Dean, who was quite experienced, found himself unsure of his skill set. For the most part, kissing had been a prelude to sex with random girls. And in the rare occasions when he had something more substantial than a casual hookup, it was sex first and feelings later.

Cas was so much more important than the rest of his previous lovers combined. He was the white thingy with the black dot to Dean's black thingy with the white dot. His other half. Bona fide soul mates. A match made in Heaven, literally, sanctioned unintentionally by whoever chose Castiel to fulfill the ascension of the Righteous Man.

They were built to fall perfectly in place with one another.

Dean needed Cas, longed for his body, ached for him. But it wasn't lust, it was an urgent insistence to be closer. To be pressed together was too far a distance from his angel. It was infuriating and confusing. It had been a long time since he hadn't been using a kiss as a tacit let's-go-have-sex-now request. And now he was petrified. Impatient. Disoriented.

Cas was equally confused. Dean was so hesitant, so passive. But it was easily the most wonderful thing he had ever known. Dean's mouth was warm and welcoming against his own, and Cas was torn between panicking and hiding or demanding more. Dean was wrapped so tightly around him, pressing their bodies together at chests and thighs and faces, an arm winding from just above his hip to his shoulder blade, where he grasped a handful of Cas's shirt. The other hand was running through his hair and it felt so good and he had no idea why. His partner was warm and Cas felt safe in his arms, content to let his guard down for just a bit. No harm could come to them here, because the rest of the world simply didn't exist.

Cas, out of habit, ran his tongue briefly over his lips. He didn't realize he was doing so until he came into contact with Dean's lower lip.

Dean froze, his mouth left open in a small gasp. Cas quickly closed his mouth and pulled away, thinking that he had done something wrong. His cheeks reddened and his fight-or-flight response was triggered by the uncharted territory. He chose flight.

"Cas," Dean whimpered softly as Cas began to squirm away.

"Sorry," he said desperately, thinking Dean was disappointed or mad or-

"Cas, stop, man. Chill out a sec." Cas stopped moving, focusing on the heathered grey fibers of Dean's t-shirt collar.

"Sorry," he muttered again.

"Cas. Apologies," Dean reminded kindly.

"Oh yeah."

"Now what on earth are you apologizing for?" Dean nuzzled into Cas's neck, drunk on hormones and the way Cas's scent made his heart speed from a canter to a full-on gallop.

"I thought you wanted me to stop," he admitted shyly, arms sliding across Dean's back. "'Cause you stopped moving."

"No," Dean said. "'M just having trouble believing this is actually happening." He turned his face upwards, and brushed his lips along Cas's jaw.

It was the angel's turn to freeze. His head fell back without his command, his body granting Dean access to the tender skin. It seemed he no longer cared if his mind would ever catch up.

Dean hummed quietly in appreciation. He began to make his way downwards, taking a detour so he could kiss Cas's razor cut from earlier this morning. Lifetimes ago.

Cas's neck was unmarked, a blank canvas, and Dean was more than willing to stake his claim. He began to suck gently, and Cas let out a breathy whine. Dean forgot how to breathe, how to exist. He pinched a small area between his bottom teeth and his sharp incisor.

"Mmmh," Cas whimpered, wrapping his arms around Dean like a lifeline. He left a freckling of bites and marks across Cas's neck, and the angel- human- shivered beneath him. Dean made his way back up his jaw, ravishing the tender skin exposed to him. Cas's hand snaked down his back and flirted with the edge of his shirt. He traced his fingers up the ridges of Dean's spine, coming to rest in his sandy brown hair. Dean bit his lower lip all of a sudden and Cas grabbed a fistful of the hunter's short hair, instincts absentmindedly forcing his head back. Dean exhaled sharply and guided Cas's gaze to his.

Cas hesitated for a couple of milliseconds before forcing Dean's head downwards. He grunted as their lips collided again and they grappled for dominance, all lips and teeth and tongues.

Cas was a quick learner. As soon as Dean gained entrance to his mouth, he picked up on his partner's technique and twisted it to his advantage.

Finally, Dean had to surface for air. He rested his head on Cas's heaving chest as he gasped for oxygen. His blood was on fire.

_Holy fucking Jesus, my angel can kiss like a god_, Dean thought as Cas buried his face in the hunter's hair.

Somewhere in the messy process of regaining his breath, Dean realized that he would be reduced to a sobbing mess if they kept this up much longer. The masochist in him wanted to drag this out as long as possible, to never come down from this raging high. He rested his forehead square in the middle of Cas's chest, savoring every rapid heartbeat, memorizing the way Cas's arms felt around his lower back.

Cas was confounded with the discovery that hair could smell this good. Dean smelled like... pine trees and deep sleep. He kissed Dean's head, overwhelmed with the attack of sensations overriding his consciousness.

"I love you so, so much," he mouthed in Dean's ear, winding his hands up to Dean's shoulders, unable to let go. Dean sighed contentedly into his chest. He put his hands on the bed on either side of Cas's chest, pushing himself upward to rest on his elbows. He gazed at Cas, frantically trying to commit his expression to memory.

"Cas," he managed. Cas ghosted along the side of his face with an impossibly light touch. He made his way to Dean's chest, stopping to cover his heart. He steadied his racing thoughts by focusing every last ounce of concentration on the steady beats. His eyes fluttered shut.

"Dean," he said eventually and registered the irregular palpitations that briefly invaded his rhythmic heartbeat.

Dean closed his eyes, breathing deeply and begging his body to calm down. His name sounded like a symphony in Cas's beautiful voice, and he whimpered at the shivers that just wouldn't leave.

And then Cas's hips twitched, the tiniest of movements, but in such close proximity to Dean that the minor shift detonated an avalanche.

Cas let out a quiet moan before clamping his mouth shut. Dean watched as his eyes widened, darting around the room frantically. Dean rolled over and sat up, watching Cas's breathing grow erratic and his eyes grow scared. He elbowed Dean away, and shrank back.

_Fuck._

* * *

**_Originally this was to be one giant behemoth chapter but I didn't feel like it lol bye_**

***Moseby pops up* "NOT IN MY LOBBY!"**


	33. Bone Marrow

**Because you can't be Dean and Cas without a whole bunch of angst and misunderstanding**

* * *

_Great work, Winchester. Didn't you remember what happened at that whorehouse? You broke it again. Everything was fine for once and you scared him off. Good fucking going._

Dean clawed his way through the red haze of arousal that clouded his mind. He fought to regain control over the primal urge that was taking up center stage so he could deal with the situation.

"Cas?" Dean sat up against the headboard so that he was close enough to speak softly but far enough so as not to overwhelm him. Cas had curled up in a tight ball on his side, facing away from him. His shoulders shook and his breaths were fast and shallow. He didn't respond. Dean pinned his attraction to the back of his mind.

_Pull yourself together, ass-hat. How you could do this to him after what happened last night? He probably just was too afraid to say no._

_Sex please now sex-_

_Deep breaths. This is Cas. _Your_ Cas._

_Sex sex._

_No._

_He's literally quaking. How could you be so fucking reckless?_

_Just say something._

"Cas?" Dean asked, mind crowded. "I need to know whether or not you want me to leave you alone."

No response.

_He's probably so dissociated he can't even hear you. He's eons old and then he's human for a couple if weeks and you want him to just adapt? How have you not been killed off by your lack of intelligence by putting bleach on your Honey Bunches of Oats-_

"Shut up," Dean growled. He took deep breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Or was it in through the mouth, and out through the nose? Either way it was doing as much good as breathing in through the left ear and out through the right. Not exactly soothing.

_Just talk, Dean, you will stop having to think so much, whispered the last hint of logic in his mind._

_Oh, yeah. That's been super fucking helpful before. Your odds of success are about as high as-_

"Cas. Can you hear my voice?" Years of regular head injuries and malevolent emotion manipulators of various cultures had trained Dean to deal with people who were disoriented, dissociative, amnesiac, manic, in shock, in severe pain, emotionally traumatized, et cetera.

All he had to do was forget that this was his boyfriend/partner/angel/?/Cas lying in bed with him.

_Super realistic goal, Winchester._

"Cas. If you can hear my voice," Dean tried again. "I need you to show me that you are aware of what you are healing." Dean's faux calmness was barely able to pin down his own rising panic. "Castiel. It's Dean."

No reply, but Cas shifted a bit to alleviate the shaking.

"Can you nod for me if you are able?" Dean begged, his voice quavering.

After an atrocious moment of nothing Cas took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Dean exhaled.

"I am so, so sorry, Cas," he said as countless years of self hatred began to awaken and circle through his veins. A bitter taste filled his mouth and he realized that his tongue was bleeding. He hated the silence and debated whether or not to speak again.

_You can't fuck this up much more than you already have, Winchester._

_Dean. Just try._

"Cas, is it okay if I talk to you for a bit? You don't have to respond."

A pause; a brief nod.

"I don't know what's going on in your head right now. I don't know if you're scared or guilty or confused or just overwhelmed."

Dean paused. Cas's breathing had slowed a bit. That had to be a good sign. Right...?

"Whatever you're thinking right now- hell, if it's anything similar to what I'm thinking, then you're not feeling so hot."

_No idioms, Dean. He might just get even more confused. He doesn't need to add hypothermia to his list of worries right now._

"Which means you're not doing so great."

_Be concise. Clearer than a brand new window._

"What I mean is- fuck, I'm bad at this- I mean you're not happy."

_No fucking duh._

"I- it hurts to watch you suffer," Dean said, his voice breaking.

_Deep brea-_

_Shut up shut up shut up._

"And knowing that I caused it..." Dean trailed of, his throat stinging in that moment where you know you're about to cry.

"I hate myself for doing this to you."

Breaths.

"But at the same time I know I deserve that suffering."

More breaths.

"But I can't-" Dean's voice cracked.

_Remind him that you will still love him._

"It's been tearing me up."

_You love him. Tell him._

"If you are as stupid as to blame yourself for this- tonight- thing-" Dean shook his head, flustered.

_I am so fucking bad at this stuff._

"I'm not so great with this kind of stuff," he said, a self-depreciating laugh escaping.

_Aaaaaagh._

"I just."

_Breathe, Winchester._

"I did this to you."

_But you still love him. He needs to-_

"And I cannot even think through all this guilt."

_-hear it. If you just say it-_

"And I'm pretty sure you just had a panic attack so you can't be thinking straight."

_What if he can't take it right now? If he's tired of you saying that and then fucking up? What then, Winchester?_

"But no matter what you're thinking, whether it's blaming me or trying to calm yourself or just imagining little pink bunnies hoppin' around-"

Cas made a huffing sound.

"Not that I think that's what you think about," he amended hastily.

_So much for keeping it simple, bastard._

"Cas, I know you pretty damn well. And I know that somewhere in that head you are blaming yourself."

Dean closed his eyes and bit back a cry of frustration.

"Cas. I need-"

Dean's eyes finally overflowed with gathered tears. He silently screamed at himself.

"I need you to. Castiel. I love you. I need you to stop telling yourself this is your fault. I need you to hate me."

Dean couldn't find the motivation needed to brush away his tears. More kept coming, so what was the point?

"I need you, Cas. More than air or water or the sun."

Dean was running out of willpower. He wanted to hold Cas, to comfort and be comforted but that wasn't an option.

"I'm not sure if you remember that morning when you waded out into that pond. You were being torn apart from the inside out and I-"

Dean slammed his fist into the mattress.

"I couldn't save you, Cas. Your trench coat washed up and I lost you."

Cas slowly unfurled his legs. He had calmed considerably.

"I would wait 'til Sammy wasn't around and I would take that- that stupid coat and I would pretend you were okay."

Cas rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. Dean's heart lifted a millimeter or two.

"I don't know how I didn't notice how much- how much I needed you."

Dean shifted until he was also lying on his back, two feet or so from Cas.

"I've been in love with you for years now," he said, wondering what might have been.

"Me too," Cas whispered. Dean turned his head to look at his angel, unsure if he had imagined the words.

"I stabbed you in the chest when I first saw you," Dean remembered with a small laugh. "But you were already part of me."

Dean looked at the ceiling, remembering all those years of Cas and his personal space thing and how blatantly they were meant to be something else. It was like reading a book that ended with such a monumental plot twist that you have to go through and reread and you wonder, how the hell didn't I see the signs?

"I love you. I love you so fucking much. I need you with me at all times. It's all I really know. I can't put it in words." Releasing all if these things as he became aware of them was astonishingly soothing. "And honestly? I find it frustrating that we can't just... I don't know." Dean pulled a face. "How are we still two people?" He was fully aware of how odd he must sound.

"We're not," Cas said.

"I know that, I was just-"

"We've become the same soul in two bodies."

Dean mulled over his words. God, it felt like he was living in a romance novel.

And it was fucking awesome.

"You should write poetry sometime," Dean said finally. "You'd be good at it." He turned his head and met Cas's intense blue gaze.

"Can I talk now?"

"I'd love it if you would, Cas." Dean smiled gently, unable to figure out how they had bandaged things so quickly.

Cas looked at the ceiling, tilting his head back to see more. His hand slid across the bed to nudge Dean's. the hunter laced their fingers together, enjoying the relieving comfort from even the smallest touch. He nestled into the covers and offered them to Cas, and they told themselves they weren't quite comfortable so they could be a little closer without being obvious.

"Just listen, please, Dean. For now. Okay?" Cas wasn't sure he could handle the back and forth of a discussion just yet.

Dean squeezed his hand in agreement.

"At the very core of the human body is the skeleton."

Dean looked at him for a minute and then back at the ceiling.

"Over the course of a lifetime, certain bones remove themselves from the body while others fuse together. Your- our bones protect us.

"Inside of every bone you will find marrow, a spongy substance filled with various compounds needed to keep the body functioning well." Cas looked fleetingly at Dean, unable to keep his eyes off of him. Dean shifted closer until there were only a few inches left between their shoulders.

_I love you more than you can even begin to start to fathom._

"Angels are made to be the living form of faith and and obedience. It is at our- was at our very core. Obey and trust. It was to us as vital as bone marrow is to humankind, not to mention the majority of the Kingdom Animalia. Everything else is attached to it, dependent on it for structure and survival.

"Before the Ten Commandments, before the planets and Eden, when Heaven was the only realm, the angels the only beings, things were simple. Worship God, love Him, love thy shiny brother." Cas smiled a bit.

"Shiny?" Dean asked, grinning, before he could stop himself.

"We were very shiny," Cas replied solemnly.

"Cas, I love you," Dean said briefly and then quieted down to hear Cas continue. He moved his arm so that it overlapped Cas's, their entwined fingers warm and comforting.

"The very first rules weren't the Ten Commandments. Mount Sinai was recent compared to the laws on which all laws are based. The Seven Deadly Sins offered us guidance. As God's law, we were designed to obey. They were so early in our existences that they shaped us, made us feel superior to any species that followed in our stead. It is one of the main reasons angels harbor such... apathy towards humans. Ever since the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil bore fruits that were to be eaten by Adam and Eve, angels have built up the core belief that they are superior, one Sin at a time. Murders, lies, thievery, prostitution, jealousy, selfishness, bragging, taxes, pleasuring oneself, anything that could be considered one of the Seven added to the general contempt for our current race. Lazing around and overeating were as condemning as genocide for most angels. There have been infinite murders, lies, and other sins acts since the dawn of man. God gave man morality, which separates them from the world's lesser inhabitants. The fact that humans betray that trust so exhaustingly, so continually despite having morals is unforgivable.

"Because the Seven were what drew the line between the races, as the hatred grew so did the importance of adhering to them. They were our alphabet song, our two plus two, our c-a-t spells cat, our look both ways when you cross the street. You didn't lie. You didn't engage in sexual activities. You didn't hold your achievements in a proud manner. You never desired more than you needed or coveted anything. You did not become angry. You did not eat unless you were participating in Holy Communion. You did not relax.

"As red, blue, and yellow fan out to create every other color, the Seven are the basis of all others. Murder from wrath, lies from greed, rape from lust, and so on.

"The Seven Deadly Sins remain the keystone for every thought, action, impulse, and decision I carry out. I do not eat unless it is a necessity. I do not allow myself more than the smallest amount of leisure. I do not take more than my share. I abstain from sex."

Cas sighed, weary and exhausted of being alive.

"I'm a human now, although I have always been a relatively human being. But I still obey the Seven to the best of my abilities, not because I want to please God but because it is my nature. Cats eat meat, birds fly south, lions roam in packs. Angels don't sin."

Cas paused, nearing the end of his explanation. Dean was engrossed in his words, every detail interesting and every fact making sense. He knew so little of Cas's life before he appeared in that warehouse. He empathized with the angels. He, too, had been obedient no matter what and look where it had gotten him. He realized with horror that he had indeed viewed Sam with contempt for disobeying and was filled with shame.

Cas was lost in thought, clearly trying to find a way to tie everything together. Dean was acutely aware of how young he was, how ancient Cas was. Antediluvian. He had seen everything but still chose to love Dean, a flawed, broken man who had hurt him. Probably more than any other thing in creation. Dean felt overcome with humility realizing how incredibly, unrealistically, astoundingly, impossibly lucky he was.

Dean Winchester was the one who changed Castiel into Cas.

He let go of Cas's hand, unable to process how much the angel must love him. It multiplied his own infinite devotion and affection further. He turned on his side and curled up to Cas, inconceivably grateful for the man who had his heart and the things he had gone through for Dean. He placed a hand over Cas's heart as Cas adjusted his body to welcome Dean.

"I got scared, Dean," Cas continued softly. "I allowed myself to kiss you, despite the fact that I was committing an act of lust. I was scared because I thought I would feel so wrong and sinful but I loved it more than anything you've shown me. I wanted it, Dean, with my body and my soul and my entire consciousness. I was thinking only about how pleasurable it felt, and my body moved before I could stop it." Cas buried his face in Dean's scent once again.

Dean ached for Cas, hating everything that the angel struggled with as he transitioned into humanity. He marveled at Cas's strength and... Cas. Cas was incredible.

And he wanted Dean.

Cas's chest vibrated as he spoke, and he now understood why girls would cling to him after sex. Guys were fucking amazing. He closed his eyes as Cas continued to speak.

"I was caught up in lust and I loved it," Cas said. "And everything sort of hit me at once when I... moved up into your body." Cas's voice shook, cracking on the word body.

"Cas," Dean said. _Cas, I love you. Cas, I hate that you have to fight these battles. Cas, I don't deserve you. Cas, I will never do it again. Cas, I'm sorry. Cas, it's not your fault._

"It's not- it's not that I committed the sin. It's that I didn't even care anymore. My skeleton's gone, Dean, and even though it was cancerous I am still collapsing without it. And worst of all, I hurt you."

Dean began to cry again. God, he was turning into a girl.

Cas turned so he lay face to face with Dean. He brushed away the tears and softly kissed the places his thumb cleared away.

"Please don't cry," he said.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Thank you for telling me."

Cas responded by tentatively pressing their mouths together, another breathtaking kiss that was over way too quickly.

Dean sighed, comfortable and warm underneath the blankets with Cas. It was still mid-afternoon, but he could easily stay there until tomorrow.

"I think," Cas stated after a while, "I am going to write myself some new rules."

"Like what?" _Like sex?_ Asked his body.

"I'll modify some, like allowing myself pride, sloth, gluttony, and greed occasionally," Cas said, and lingered briefly with his lips on Dean's. "As long as I have a reasonable justification."

Dean nodded, waiting to see where the angel would take this.

"I think I'll keep wrath and jealousy as forbidden for now," Cas mused.

_Okay, that's six._

"Lust?" Cas kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip. "Well, who's going to see?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, his body approving eagerly. He liked this side of Cas; reckless without any endangerment. Not to mention aroused.

"Cas, are you sure?" Still, though, Dean wouldn't allow himself to take advantage.

"No. But I'm getting there." Cas said honestly. He kissed the hunter again, slowly and deliciously and probably not G-rated.

"Well, let me know when you decide," Dean said. "'Cause I'm seeing a lot of cold showers in the future."

"Why? Doesn't the facility have water heating."

"No. It does. I just, ah, I did not expect you to turn me on as much as you do," Dean admitted.

Cas squinted at him.

"It means that, I, um, really want to have sex with you."

"Oh." Cas reddened. "Sorry."

"No," Dean said. "No apologies, remember? This is good."

"Why is that good?"

"I'm not exactly adherent to the Seven Deadly Sins," Dean explained. "'Cept for pride, I guess.

"So... You can teach me."


	34. Sinning 101

**Hello there, my lovelies! I must warn you in advance of two things:**

**1. there may be some moderately graphic torture in a chapter or two pretty soon down the road. And not the kind that Rihanna sings about, either, so put your panties back on (actually you can keep them off *winks suggestively* ****_stop flirting with your readers banana angel_****) **

**2. Posting may be a tad spotty over the next few weeks. My family decided it would be a fantastic time to go down South and stay with some relatives for a while. Let's just say I have about the same level of animosity and rapport with them old folks as Dean and Sam Winchester have with dear old Samuel Campbell. I'm of the age where I must say 'sir' and 'ma'am' no matter what adults I am addressing. I must obey no matter what. My family down south is about as cuddly as a cactus with... with... um... gonorrhea. And syphyllus. We get along about as well as a liberal Democrat from the North-East and a group of racist, conservative, bat-shit insane, racist, Michelle Bachmann-esque conservative conservative (did i mention conservative yet?) Republicans. Because that's what we are. So basically, I'm going back in time to the eighteenth century, where girls cook and men hunt and girls do laundry and everyone is God-lovin' and God-fearin' and black people are not real people and gay people don't even exist and Sundays are for God-lovin' and God-fearin' and there is no wifi. I mean, it's a fucking PLANTATION. FROM YOUR CIVIL WAR HISTORY BOOKS. But, being your fearless Banana Angel, I wired up a system where I can tether my iPhone to the satellite coverage and utilize my laptop as such. But that's only after my chores and stuff. (NOTE: ALMOST NONE OF THE AREAS IN SOUTHERN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IS STILL AS RAMPANTLY OLD-TIMEY AS MY EXTENDED PSYCHOPATH FAMILY, AND I WISH TO INSULT NOBODY.) 'murrica, y'all. Yee-haw. Boy howdy. (wow ignore my stereotyping ways you guys it's not like i am bitter or anything)**

**3. okay i said two but whatever. The Dean-slash-Cas porn is practically begging to be written, but I expect it'll be another few chapters. I've got some short PWPs that will be up soon. Keep a metaphorical eye on my page. Because gay sex.**

**4. Also Hannibal is making me scream**

**5. Ironic that I'll be spending my free time among conservative Republicans writing gay sex scenes lolololol how's that fer God-fearin' lololololol eat that y'all I be an atheist Democrat buahahahah smoke on yer pipe and puut THAT in**

* * *

"Teach you what?" Dean was the one confused now.

"How to break free."

Dean nodded. There was something exhilarating and ultimately thrilling about teaching an angel to sin.

"We could start with pride," he suggested. "You know, let you look back at the good things you've done and say, 'yeah, that was pretty awesome. I'm pretty awesome.' You deserve it."

"I don't know what to be prideful of," Cas said after a moment of consideration.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked, looking at Cas quizzically.

"I'm proud of you and Sam. But I don't have any achievements of my own to admire."

"Cas. You_ have got_ to be fucking kidding me." Dean stared open-mouthed at Cas.

"No, sorry- I mean. I just can't think of any."

"Seriously?"

"I assure you, I am not lying." Cas gave him a Dean I already told you this look.

"You cannot think of even one thing?"

Cas shook his head.

"Well, I suppose I'm a bit of a hypocrite in that regard. But dude, seriously, you have tons of things to be proud of."

"I thought a hypocrite was someone who said one thing but carried out the opposite," Cas stated.

"Right...?"

Cas's eyes widened as he realized what Dean was telling him.

"You are implying that you are not proud." Cas squinted. "But-"

"I am proud. Proud of my little brother and Charlie and Kevin and you."

"Not of yourself?" Cas said incredulously. "But- Dean, how can you not be?"

"How can you not be?" Dean challenged.

"But I am proud of you."

"No. Of yourself. I tell you what: I'll be proud of me once you are proud of you. Deal?" Dean smiled, knowing that Cas would have to acquiesce.

"But I can't," Cas insisted. "I don't have anything-"

"Cas. You do." Dean butted his head playfully against Cas's chest.

"But-"

"You- where do I even start?" Dean shook his head. "How about saving people? Making things right? Standing up for what's right even though you were explicitly programmed not to?" Dean trailed off. There were far too many things begging to be said. "And if those are too big, how about that Molotov cocktail in Michael's face?"

Cas allowed himself to smile.

"Okay. I guess I'm proud of that,"

"Cas, even God is proud of you. Why else would you get sent back?"

"You too," Cas said. "So there. Now you have to be proud."

"What should I be proud of?" Dean scoffed. "Starting the Apocalypse? Selling my soul? Letting my brothers get trapped in Hell with the devil himself?"

"Ending the apocalypse. Raising Sam so well. Saving the world and all those people. Forgiving more than anyone else I've ever seen." Cas paused. "And I've seen billions of people."

"Really? Who'd I forgive?"

"Your father. Your brother. Me. The world. Heaven. Gabriel. That kid who punched you in sophomore year at Taylor Allderdice High School. Lucifer. The angels. Who haven't you forgiven?"

"Um. One, how can you possibly know about that kid?"

"He gave you a black eye but you got expelled. I think I saw it when I put you back together."

"Okay," Dean said. "Two. What would I have to forgive Sam for?"

"Ruby. The demon blood. Abandoning you. Preferring Spider-Man to Batman."

"He likes Spider-Man better than Batman?"

"No," Cas said unconvincingly.

"Okay, sure. But I didn't forgive Lucifer."

"You did," Cas said with confidence. "You see him as a lost child who lashed out because he became confused and his punishment was so severe he grew up without anyone to love, turning into a disillusioned man willing to pay any price to be free."

Dean opened his mouth to protest but closed it as he realized that what Cas said was true.

"How do you know that when I don't even know that?"

"Because I forgave him as such. Had I been an archangel or rebelled first, I could have been labeled as the devil. Lucifer just couldn't see why he was supposed to hallow sinners more than our Father, and he couldn't accept it. He stood up for what he believed. I have done far worse and I am a mere infantryman next to him."

"You could never be the devil!" Dean exclaimed.

"If the Morning Star, the Bringer of Light, one of the four most holiest things in creation, can be twisted to suit the needs of a religion, that is to say, if my brother Lucifer could become Satan, who is to say a low-ranking, disobedient, reckless, sinful angel like me might have been?"

Cas sighed deeply.

"He rebelled. I rebelled. He refused orders. I refused orders. He killed a few. I killed thousands. I was just later than him."

"Yeah, but... He's the devil. You're Cas."

"If circumstances were different, he might have been some hunter's Lucy."

"Um. That is really weird."

"So is bubble bath."

"Okay. What was the last one?"

"Who haven't you forgiven?"

"I dunno. Azazel." Dean said.

"I don't blame you," Cas said. Though he hadn't been acquainted with the brothers before Azazel had died, he had picked up on the residual grief and regret. Not to mention that he was the catalyst for the Winchesters' hunting lives, the prelude to their Gospels.

"Mmmm," Dean said, lost in thought. He realized with trepidation that he would never have met Castiel or fallen in love with Cas had Azazel moved on to the next house. It was bittersweet; a Texas worth of bitter and a Rhode Island worth of sweet. It was so, so, so horrible; too grossly tragic and atrocious to even consider a silver lining.

But there was one.

Dean felt bile rising in his throat.

He could not have anything to thank Azazel for.

Would not.

_Ever._

"Dean, are you okay?" Cas said, Dean's panic registering on his face.

Wait.

But Azazel's intentions were _never_ to give Dean happiness.

Through all of their misfortune, he had granted Dean what he had ripped from him so cruelly all those years ago: love. A family. A home.

Dean had weathered the storm and come out triumphant. The victor of the hard-fought war.

It was the final blow to the bastard who had caused this.

And Dean was okay with that.

"Yeah, Cas, I'm fine."

Dean smiled softly and pulled Cas's face closer for a gentle kiss. The fallen angel gazed back at him with trust and fondness in his eyes, and Dean was content to just be Dean and Cas for a while.

"I just love you so much."

_Take that, you shit-eating demon._

* * *

**I mean can you even imagine me in a family o' unaccepting white folk**

**Me: Hi I think being homosexual isn't evil or sinful**

**Them: No**

**Me: Hi I'm an athiest**

**Them: No no**

**Me: Hi my favorite T. V. show twists up the bible and two gay dudes and one of them is actually an angel**

**Them: No no nO OO**

**Me: Yes that's correct an angel of the lord our god (well your god anyways ahahaah)**

**Them: no my poor conservative hateful ears make it stop**

**Me: who gets a *censored* up the *censored* and sometimes he also *censored* *censored* *super censored***

**Them: o**

**Me: with a man**

**Them: no no no**

**Me: hey guys guess what our president is a black man**

**Them: LIES AND BLASPHEMY**

**Me: and he supports LGBTQ rights**

**Them: oh dearie me**

**Me: Also it's the twenty first century and equality is in style this summer**

**Them: nope nope nope**

**Me: Also I am attracted to girls and boys what travesty **

**Them: *combusts***

**Me: *shrugs and writes more Dean-and-Cas-slash***

**(Seriously, none of that is most Southerners. I hereby apologize for my own hypocritical discrimination. Call me a thoroughly Modern Millie)**


	35. Mockumentary

**WOW I FEEL REALLY REAALY AWFUL ABOUT THE NOTES ON THAT LAST CHAPTER WOW OKAY I AM SERIOUSLY A JERK WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. Im super super sorry if I offended anyone. Seriously. There's nobody in my extended family under the age of forty five, and they are very, very, very right wing and it really, really gets under my skin. One thanksgiving, the conversation was centered around the wrongness of being gay. I guess I was on rant mode and I feel like shit. I can't edit it from here though and I feel like I just viciously insulted the entire culture and I feel like shIt. i just want to really apologize and now I will go hide in a corner because I hate offending people and I really, really want to apilogize and say that I was really only trying to portray my family as such and asdfghjkl I am hating people for hating people so I hate myself? Um the sex scene is coming up so please don't crucify me I love you all sososososo much. **

"Ah. A rare sighting of _Deanus Insapiens_, who when faced with a chance at domesticity, tends to build a hidden nest, venturing out only when the need for sustenance arises-"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said gruffly, in no mood for Sam's teasing. He had stayed in bed with Cas for the rest of the night and a good portion of the morning, talking and dozing off and generally being lazy. Dean insisted that they were working on sloth, and once he got over the initial indignation towards the sin, Cas had reveled in it. But shit had hit the fan when Dean's stomach growled. The hunter had hinted at breakfast, and then Cas had panicked at the idea of gluttony. It was one step foward, two steps back, and Dean hated himself for being so clumsy. Then, Cas had insisted that he was fine, not hungry at all, but if Dean wanted to eat he was welcome to. So Dean had threatened to not eat until Cas did, but Cas just looked terrible at the idea that he was making Dean fast.

So somehow Cas had lost and Dean had lost and Dean was still hungry. Now matter how he tried, Cas still wouldn't eat. And to top it off, Sam was making fun of him for spending time with Cas.

"Mea culpa," Sam said, hands raised defensively, the expression on his face clearly reading _I am not sorry at all._

"Fuck off," Dean said. "You guys are just sitting here-" he said, gesturing at the table. "Meanwhile, Cas is having a breakdown. You're playing Mah fucking Jongg while I am trying to get my best friend to eat. So you can sit there and make fun of me all fucking day, but it's childish and I am not in the mood," he snarled, leaving all four of his bunker-mates blinking open-mouthed at him. "So, I'm going to '_slink back into my den_' or whatever and keep Cas from _killing himself_ again!" Dean grabbed dishes from the fridge at random, not caring what he chose but adding a bottle of cream soda for good measure. He shouldered the refrigerator door and it slammed shut with a dull thud as he walked away. He felt bad for taking out his frustration on them, but it was quickly forgotten as he approached the monumental task ahead of him.

In the kitchen, their was an uncomfortable silence as Charlie, Sam, Kevin, and Crowley stared at their tiles, the word 'again' swollen and throbbing in the air. Crowley decided to arrange his pieces in descending order, then by suit, then by value, then by hand and so on. Kevin chewed on his lip, unsure how to broach the large family dynamic and all of the drama it entailed. Charlie checked and re-checked her winning hand, which she had been about to call when Dean came in. Sam berated himself and tried to convince himself that the 'again' referred to keeping Cas company and had n othing to do with Cas's blatant suicidality.

"Well, there goes my career as a nature program narrator," he joked weakly, earning three blank stares.

* * *

**Aww Sammy-boo what did you go and do that for?**

Mah Jongg is a really cool game by the way

**Over and out, me xoxo**


	36. Blackbird

**I own neither Supernatural, 'Blackbird', or Roman methods of torture. Or maybe I do, but that's specifically for me to keep clandestinely in my sex torture dungeon. Kevin Tran, honor student, be warned.**

* * *

_He was standing on a raised platform in the middle of an open plain, dying wheat drooping lethargically to the ground, the landscape overall windswept and grey. The sky was as heavy, dull, and lifeless as cement. No sun shone, but there was no moon or stars either._

_He tried to move, but his hands were tied behind him, arms stretched out, and his feet were dangling. He wondered where the sun had gone, and why the field never ended._

_And then, he was met with his own blue eyes, but they were filled with a rage and hatred beyond anything he had ever felt. He knew without question that this doppelgänger was Castiel, filled with delusions of Heaven and God and duty. Castiel circled him, a cold smile on his face, hands clasped behind his back._

_"Cas," he said finally._

Where am I?_ Cas asked, but his mouth was sewn shut. It hurt to move his lips as the stitches tugged painfully. He felt blood leak into his mouth, and tried not to gag at its acrid tang._

_"It matters not," Castiel replied, smirking._

Why?_ Cas grunted against the stitching, grinding his teeth at the pain._

_"Aw, cute little Cassie. Too shy to speak. I will fix that, with much pleasure." Cas's eyes widened as he realized what his mirror image intended to do. Castiel came closer, reaching his hand up gleefully to Cas's sealed mouth. He stuck his pointer finger in a gap near Cas's molars, wiggling it around, teasing the torn flesh as Cas sobbed at the brutal pain._

_Then, with a small, cold smile, he ripped._

_Cas's lips erupted in agony as the flesh was forced apart bluntly. He screamed, screamed, but he couldn't get them to stop hurting. His mouth flooded with blood as his lips throbbed and pulsed. He began to choke, gasping through the thick red liquid. Castiel chuckled softly._

_"Did that hurt you? I'm _sorry_, I guess that wasn't very kind of me." The doppelgänger vanished and reappeared behind Cas. "But if it's any consolation, that shall be considered a mere hangnail next to this."_

_Castiel patted his shoulder comfortingly before driving a blade into his back. Cas howled, breathing raggedly, as he continued to cough and choke._

_"You know, for one who aches to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh so much, Cas, you really do not seem keen on experiencing the agonies." Castiel twisted the blade before pulling it back out. He rematerialized up close again. "Remember this knife?" A flicker of recognition flashed briefly through Cas's mind at the jagged silver blade. Ornate carvings caught blood within their surfaces. Cas shit his eyes as Castiel wiped the knife on his face, one surface for each cheek. It mingled with the blood from his eyes._

Oh, God.

_"Cas, He hath forsaken you."_

No.

_"This is Ruby's knife. Remember Ruby?"_

Dean.

_"Funny, you abhorred that demon for her promiscuity-"_

Where's Dean, I-

_"And chastised Samuel Winchester for his intimacy with the bitch-"_

I need Dean-

_"But here you are, _lusting_ after his big bro." Castiel narrowed his eyes, a gesture lost on Cas, who was squeezing his own shut from the pain._

Where is-

_"Who's the abomination now, Cas? Demons are supposed to be low."_

Dean, I need Dean.

_"But _angels_..." Castiel shook his head and shrugged in mock confusion. He flew around behind Cas._

Dean!

_"Nice crucifix."_

Dean-

_Castiel slid the blade into the bloody wound from his previous puncture, angling it so that the blade cut differently and numerous layers of flesh were pulled from and scraped agaist each other. Cas screamed as Castiel pulled the knife downwards, carving from the top of his right shoulder blade down to his final vertebra, slowly, unbearably slowly, shoving every other thought out of Cas's mind. The world was composed of bright, all-consuming agony. His breaths were now coming short and shallow, for the effort was too great._

_"You have acquired what you do not deserve, Cas," said Castiel, spitting out the last syllable like a curse in every sense of the word: insult, blasphemy, swear word, degradation, spell of ill will, and mostly the implication of ungodliness._

_"He- help-" Cas tried, but Castiel was in front of him again, the knife poking into the juncture between neck and jaw. Castiel slid the knife in sideways, underneath the scarring flesh, rigid from some other injury, long-forgotten in the wake of the current pain. Cas wavered, caught between a gasp of pain and a cry of despair._

_"You should be ashamed to have ever borne the suffix." Castiel dug the knife under his skin, the pointed edge gliding beneath layers of flesh, adipose, and muscle tissue. Cas screamed at the sky, but it continued to stare at him, its unflinching gaze of harsh cement-grey/blue showing no mercy._

_Only apathy was left in the world for Cas._

_"The apathy you deserve. You are a miserable disgrace. A cruel parody of the majesty that we once were- until YOU cast us out!"_

_Castiel twisted the blade outward, carving a neat line in his skin and pulling the knife away. It dripped in blood, and Castiel grinned coldly at the red-gleamed surface. His icy blue eyes then looked back at Cas, the mirror image of the fallen angel._

_"Mmnnnh," Cas whimpered softly, trying not to choke in his terror and panic. He felt like a helpless fledgling who had stepped into the noose of a small game trap, and could only watch as the trigger slid like sour honey away from the the bar. He knew that struggling against the problem made it worse but his human instincts told him to reject Castiel's presence._

_"Oh, my poor, wingless whore, I have every right to be here. You are the abomination."_

_"Nehhh-" Cas blinked and shook his head, trying desperately to banish the tears clawing their way out._

_"That's cute. You want Dean." Castiel batted his eyelashes. "Your squirming, mucus-covered, 'righteous' savior." Cas's doppelgänger made minimalistic air quotes._

_"Nnnnn-"_

_"Aw, how unbelievably PATHETIC." Castiel sneered._

_"Nngh," Cas moaned as his visage gripped him suddenly by the neck, stilling his movements with a choking grasp._

_"You didn't even realize you were calling to him."_

_"Annnnhhhhnnnnghhh," Cas whined._

_"He can't fucking _hear_ you, Cas,"_

_"Mmmmhhh," the bound man choked out, his reflection's grip becoming tighter._

_The world began to bleed; deep maroons and sapphires seeping into the vicious greys and blues._

Where is Dean?

_"He can't hear your prayers, wingless whore." Castiel's voice was filled with malicious yet saccharine mocking. "Because he isn't an angel."_

Then why would I want to pray to him?_ Cas's confusion was genuine, his thin cognitions watered down further by his rapidly fleeting oxygen supply._

_Castiel howled in vehement ire._

_"Stop NEEDING him!"_

No.

_Castiel tightened his grip further, and Cas could feel a blanketing darkness void at the edges of his consciousness._

_"Oh, no, Cas. I need you conscious for the final severance." Castiel didn't lighten his hold, but he blocked his bound echo from diving off of the cliff by just a fiber, an ancient spiderweb._

_The world was now entirely red. Burgundy in some areas, harsh, unrelenting garnet in others._

_Castiel shifted, but Cas was too far gone to notice or feel as the blade slivered across his face._

_One mark._

Dean-

_Two lines._

Where is Dean?

_Then, three lines._

Why do I need Dean?

_A fourth and final cut and then somehow- _mercifully_- his neck was free and blotchy colors began to fade through the scarlet._

_"That's not mercy, wingless protozoa, that's playing with my kill."_

_Cas longed to see something green. In the time he had been in a choke hold, the dying wheat had perished entirely. Cement, heavy, blunt grey sky. Malicious blue eyes, cruelly healthful tan skin, dull brown hair, duller golden wheat, ruddy blots of maroon._

Where were the purples?

Why can't I see green?

_Castiel circled him again, admiring his work in progress._

_"Despair not, man of mud. We are nearing completion." Castiel smiled icily and fluttered away, reappearing behind his selfsame echo once again._

_Blood seeped out of Cas's wounds, from his cheekbones and his torn lips and his jaw, down his pale face and neck, covering his bare flesh and making him feel overwhelmingly faint._

_"Aw, what's the matter? Can't stand to see the life drip from that pretty porcelain face of yours?"_

_Cas uttered a silent prayer to something._

_"Dean can't he-ee-ear you!" Castiel singsonged. "Can't hold your ha-a-a-and! You are all alo-oo-oo-one!"_

_Cas screamed as the demon blade pierced his flesh yet again, cutting neatly into his left shoulder blade._

_"You're alone here, Cas. You're always alone. In your garrison-" the knife sliced through an inch or two. "In your rebellion."_

_"Plea-AHHH!" The knife cut farther. Cas panted brokenly._

_"In your powerlust."_

_The knife stuttered over his ribs- one, two, three-_

_"In your trials."_

_Four, five, six seven eight nine-_

_"In that primitive hive you're living in."_

_Ten eleven twelve._

_Cas clamped his teeth shut, trying unsuccessfully to bite back a scream of pain. Castiel mirrored the first carving perfectly, and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Cas's heart was beating too slowly, running out of blood and oxygen. He slumped against the crucifix, his shoulders pulling at their sockets._

_"Ah, very good. After all, a_ human with wings_ is the biggest abomination of them all."_

Let me go. Please, God, just let me die. Let me end this.

_"Cas," said his reflection, "we are not finished."_

I want to die.

_Cas's eyes fluttered shut as his senses dulled. Somewhere far, far away, there was something sharp and warm slicing through his chest._

_"Cas, stay with me."_

Let me die.

_"Cas!"_

_"Cas, come back to me."_

Please, God, just let me go. Have mercy.

_"Cas."_

_"Cas, please, beautiful, wake up."_

_"We are not finished here, wingless ass-"_

_"Cas, it's me. It's Dean."_

Dean?

_"Cas."_

_"Run back to the whore, Cas, but remember-"_

_"Cas. You are having a nightmare."_

_"-I have not finished with you."_

_"Come back to me."_

_"Dean?"_

_The field was gone, but the world was still dark when he opened his eyes. He felt warm and distant, like he was floating. He struggled to remember who Dean was, who he was, where he was, what this agony was, why it didn't just stop._

_"_Let me die_," he rasped._

_"Cas, you're safe. Please, wake up," said the voice again, and Cas vaguely remembered the color green and a feeling of security. He connected the sounds with this- this- this odd warmth wrapped around him and blossoming in his chest. But the hollow pain still barricaded his logic._

_"_Let me die_," he repeated. "_Let me end thi_s-"_

_"Wake up, Cas! Stop doing this to me!"_

* * *

_The world was black again, but it was a calmer black. Jet, rather than the utter lack of voices._

**_Blackbird singing in the dead of night._**

_A voice reached his consciousness, and he felt warm._

_Dean?_

**_Take these broken wings and learn to fly-_**

_My wings. He cut them. I cut them._

**_All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive._**

_Dean, I need you to let me rest alone when the song ends, okay?_

**_Blackbird, fly._**

_The warmth around him caressed him into weightlessness, the voice carrying him, guiding him up until he was floating in the darkness._

**_Blackbird singing in the dead of the night..._**

_Cas's eyes fluttered shut as he edged closer to something warm and safe._

**_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see._**

What language is that singer using?

**_All your life..._**

**_...you were only waiting for this moment to arrive._**

_Cas finally allowed himself to drift into the velveteen darkness as the song reached its cadence._

**_Blackbird, fly._**

_At last he slept, the pain lowering just enough to give his mind a rest._

**_Into the light of the cold, dark night._**

* * *

**Cas really reminds me of a blackbird. *cries softly and waits for October***


	37. Serious Discussions

**Wow, this chapter is probably severely out of character. My theory is that Sam secretly is as sassy as Soulless Sam (say that ten times fast. Sam secretly sassy soulless bleh you get the point whatever) in his mind and when he's drunk his filter dissolves like Kool Aid powder in warm water. Also, my second complimenting theory is that he's still sock from the trials and gets afffected super duper easily by alcohol for the time being. So you have batshit insane drunk Sam. Yaysies. A balm for all that angst in the previous chapter. Don't murder me. **

* * *

Sam woke to voices. Well, not so much voices as noises. Cries, grunts, and moans.

"Cas," he heard his brother shout. Sam sighed deeply, afraid that he knew exactly what was going on.

"Dean," Cas grunted. Sam sighed. He really did not want to hear that. It was one thing to be aware of what his brother was doing- who his brother was doing- and another to hear them in the act. He knew that he wasn't going to be able to go to sleep again, and he wanted to occupy his mind with something that didn't involve his brother's nightly activities. Ugh.

He stretched and yawned, only the slightest bit tired. Spending most of his time sleeping off the after effects of the trials had made Sam quite accustomed to long stretches of shut eye and short, randomized periods of consciousness. He'd been asleep since Charlie had called Mah Jongg. He'd thrown every tile he needed by accident, still feeling awful about what he'd said to Dean earlier. He'd meant it as a joke, though looking back on it his words seemed overly harsh. He had truly thought things were going well.

Sam sighed and rolled out of bed, wondering what time it was. The impolite noises from Dean's room had ceased. He walked out into the hallway, being extra careful not to make a sound. That would just make things even weirder and frankly, he did not want to ever think about it ever again. He was making a mental note to find some ear plugs for future usage when he heard a voice flowing through the air. He stopped short, spellbound by the singing. It took him a moment to realize that it was Dean singing.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night..."

Sam blinked. It sounded so...familiar.

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly..."

He knew the song, of course, it was kind of hard not to.

"All your life, you were..."

Dean's voice grew softer. Cas said something quietly, and Dean paused for a moment. Sam could no longer make out the words. He realized suddenly why the sound was so familiar. He couldn't have been more than a toddler, dreaming of a pretty woman engulfed in flames... when that voice, higher then, and that song, had pulled him out of it before settling him back into a dreamless slumber. Sam wondered briefly how many times that had happened and what age he had been when it stopped.

The song was coming to a close, Sam realized. Dean's voice stopped every couple of words, presumably to comfort Cas. He recognized the last few words:

"Blackbird fly..."

Sam bit his lip. He heard the rustle of sheets and a few hushed words. Then, footsteps.

Sam rushed to the nearest door, closing it almost all of the way behind him before Dean walked out into the hall. Sam watched as his brother quietly shut the door. He leaned against it for a minute, his hand on the door. His shoulders were shaking gently, and he fisted his left hand and balled it against the door, sliding his fingers down. Finally, he sighed and stepped back, catching his tears with the heels of his palms. He rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath, only moving his other hand from the doorknob when he was too far to hold on any longer. His hand slid along the wall, finally dropping to his side at the end off the hallway.

Sam was too affected by the scene that had just unfolded before him to move for a while.

He had never really witnessed anything so potently heartbreaking before, least of all with Dean at the core of it.

Glass began to clink against more glass in the kitchen, snapping the younger Winchester out of his powerful reverie. He opened the door again to join his brother in the kitchen, knowing him well enough to know that he ached for comfort.

"Hey, Dean," he greeted nonchalantly. Dean jumped and rubbed his eyes again, then turned around to smile at Sam.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean said, forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at his brother from earlier.

"Is it?" Sam asked absentmindedly.

"I don't actually know." Dean shrugged and poured himself a tall glass of some amber liquid from an ornate crystal...vessel thing.

"Five o' clock somewhere, right?" Sam commented. He frowned at his brother's choice of balm.

"Depends if it's actually on the hour right now," Dean said. He took a large swallow of liquor, and then refilled his glass.

"So, uh. Why you awake?" Sam asked innocently, opening the refrigerator. Someone had apparently made a grocery run. He brushed aside the beer and chose a can of ginger ale.

"Couldn't sleep," Dean shrugged. "You?"

Sam froze. He faked a yawn, holding up his index finger to indicate that he needed a moment.

"I don't know. Heard someone yelling or something." Dean tilted his head.

"Must have been a dream. You been sleepin' okay, man?"

"Huh. It was pretty vivid," Sam said, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

"Care to drink yourself to oblivion with me?" Dean asked.

"Sure, why not." Drunk Dean was talky Dean. And Sam missed getting shit faced with him, exchanging sob stories and stupid sex jokes.

"Give me that," Dean said, snatching the ginger ale from Sam's hand. Before the younger Winchester could argue his soda was being dumped into a... giant glass mixing bowl. Dean smirked and added a huge dose of liquor.

"Aw, dude, that's-"

"A manly drink," Dean said.

"Fine," Sam said, taking a cup from the cabinet and dipping it into the sloshy cocktail. He brought it to his lips and found that it wasn't that bad. "What is this stuff?"

"No fucking clue." Dean shivered and drank the remaining amber fluid straight from its holder thingy.

They drank in silence for a while, Dean finishing his glass and blatantly dipping from Sam's bowl.

"How's Cas doing?" Sam asked finally. Dean winced and sat forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and slumping over.

Dean mumbled something.

"Hmm?"

"Not great."

"Not great?"

"He's fucking miserable," Dean amended, too tired to evade any longer.

"The screams," Sam guessed.

"He has these- these nightmares," Dean said, unable to keep himself from crying.

Sam hesitated briefly before placing a hand on his brother's back. It was a simple gesture, but Dean appreciated it nonetheless.

"He forgets who he is," Dean said, his voice breaking. He buried his face in his palms, breaths shaking.

Sam swallowed and closed his eyes. It was as if Dean's sorrow reached out and pulled everything around him into its dark hollows. Sam cared a lot about Cas, too. He was like an cousin with anger management issues who had somehow turned into a quiet, meek little god brother in some weird, family movie drama. Their dads abandoned the three of them, so they clung together in a dysfunctional brotherhood. Cas had slowly latched onto Dean and become such an essential part of his brother that Sam rarely thought of one without his mind conjuring thoughts of the other. He loved them both equally, if differently, and it was painful watching them slowly drag each other down like two men dancing slowly in quicksand.

"You love him," Sam said softly. No teasing. No prodding. Just acknowledgment of the reality.

"I love him. So fucking much," Dean said, voice quavering with emotion. "It's killing me, man."

Sam's throat constricted. It wasn't fair for his brother and his... other brother to have saved the world so many times only to crash and burn in each other's arms.

"Sammy, he..." Dean let out an infinitesimal wail and sat back, covering his eyes with a shaking hand.

"Dean..."

"I want to-" Dean swallowed back more tears unsuccessfully. "I want to just take his pain," he shuddered out. "I'd go through it all for him. A thousand times over."

Sam grabbed his brother and pulled him into a crushing hug as he screamed silently into his little brother's shoulder. They stayed like that for a minor infinity, Dean in pain beyond anything Sam had ever seen his brother bear. Sam was scared. Since when had his role model, his big brother, his stand-in father become so damn small? Sam had lost a lot of muscle mass in the past year or so, but he still felt as if he might break Dean with one wrong movement.

Dean wasn't supposed to be breakable. He was supposed to laugh it off or if it was really bad drink it off. He was supposed to blast the music to cloak his anger and stab the next asshole extra deep.

Sam didn't know how to be the older brother. He didn't want to be the older brother. He wanted Dean and Cas to be happy and make the entire world legalize same sex marriage just by looking at them and then they'd go on a honeymoon for two years. He wanted them to get a grumpy old cat that hissed at everyone but them and fall asleep together every night and have him over for Sunday dinners and just be fucking happy.

But the real-life Dean was shattered and tortured and so fucking small. So fucking breakable.

And if Dean became breakable, Dean fucking Winchester, then there was no hope for anyone else.

It was selfish and stupid but Sam wanted Dean the tough-ass warrior there to chase away his nightmares and beat the shit out of the things that caused them.

He wasn't ready to share and he hated himself for it.

Dean ran out of tears to cry after lifetimes. Sam noticed the tiniest shift in his brother's movements and reluctantly let them break apart.

"How are you, though?" Dean asked hoarsely. "You back amongst the living yet?"

"Getting there," Sam replied dishonestly. He still ached and woke up sweaty and felt nauseous the majority of the time. But it wasn't a total lie; he wasn't as edge-of-the-cliff as he had been. But he was nowhere near functioning.

"Bullshit," Dean said. "I fucking raised you, man. Your lying face is basically mine."

"I'll live."

That was what really mattered to them in the end. So long as you weren't dying, you got your sorry ass out of bed in the morning and you did whatever the fuck you needed to keep your lungs from caving in.

"I'm glad," Dean said, efficiently communicating how worried he had been previously.

"I have got to be in perfect health soon," Sam said. "I mean, how else am I going to simultaneously walk you down the aisle and be your best man?"

Dean scowled, but he couldn't keep the smile from his eyes.

"No, dude, I am being totally serious," Sam said. The weird-ass ginger ale whatever the fuck it was mix had affected him more than he'd realized.

"Sammy, come on-"

"Unless you want me to be your fucking flower girl," Sam said, smirking.

"Nah, that'll be Kevin's job," Dean dead-panned.

"Really? You're getting married?" Sam said, weirdly euphoric. Maybe because euphoria masked the obituaric fact that nothing like that happened to them. Ever.

"No. We haven't even had se-"

"Whoah, Dean. Don't want to hear it."

Dean thought this the perfect excuse to keep going.

"I mean, we've been really damn close, you know? But he's scared and stuff."

"Stuff." Sam nodded. "Like you're too pussy to take it up the ass. That kind of stuff." If Dean was going to try and wig him out, he was going to go further.

"I am not." Dean scoffed.

"Really."

"Yes, Samantha. Besides, not like you've ever needed to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you have other options available."

"Dude. Just cause I got laid by a guy before you did-"

"Sam-"

"By a man-"

"Sam."

"A man with a dick."

"Sam."

"And I lo-oo-oo-oved it."

"Samuel Hasavagina Winchester. You are sloppy drunk. Fucking god."

"Maybe because I have not lot of blood and more drink? Probably makes my alcohol blood level higher."

"Wow. Fuck. Okay." Dean probably would have felt like shit if he was sober enough to care.

"But if that's what it takes to tell you that-"

"Sam. Stop."

"That getting fucked is really, really, really-"

"Sam. I you do not stop it I-"

"God. You literally will want to-"

"Sam."

"Dean likes dicks. Dean likes dicks."

"Sam."

"Holy ssgghhffft."

"Sam. What."

"I think I'm going to pass out."

"Sam. Go vomit and then sleep."

"Nah." Sam giggled. He curled his head up on the table- no, you can't curl your head. He like, made his arms go on the table and head put on them and it was kind of fuzzy and dark?

"Fuck you, Sammy," Dean said lovingly, then searched the entire bunker for a Sharpie.


	38. Sibling Jealousy

**I get home in two days; then this story will return to regular length and frequency chapters! I have so much written, it's not even funny. Prepare yoselvess. **

* * *

Cas snapped his eyes shut as he heard footsteps returning to the bedroom, presumably Dean's. after falling asleep in the hunter's arms, he had slept peacefully for a while before awakening with a start. His heart had been racing, and he was sweaty, but he couldn't recall the dream, which was, he supposed, a small blessing. Then he had become aware of Dean's absence, but his worries had quickly been abated by voices in the main room.

Some small part of Cas had always envied the brothers' relationship; the way they did everything for each other, consciously or not. It hurt him to watch the two and remember his own brothers. He had betrayed every single one of them. But on the other hand, a tiny, masochistic part of him liked being able to see such a relationship up close an personal. So he listened in sometimes, watched them.

Tonight, he couldn't hear what they were saying, but their voices calmed him nonetheless. He had a sneaking suspicion that this might be considered "creepy" or whatever Dean liked to call him, but it was one of the few comforts he allowed himself.

Dean let himself in quietly, not wanting to disturb Cas. Cas focused on returning his breathing patterns to a steady, slow rhythm. Dean curled himself around the fallen angel like a protective shell, and Cas instinctively nestled himself closer.

"I love you, Cas," Dean said, almost too quiet to hear.

I love you too, Cas thought.


	39. Smudges, Sarcasm, and Cereal

**Sorry if this story is veering off the tracks.**

**Not that I knew where those tracks were pointed in the first place...**

**So who all watches ****_Sherlock_****? Did ja see the new trailer? Well, 'tis probably old news to you guys. I wanted to write a short piece based on it. It failed. See below.**

**If not, ignore the bottom author's note**

* * *

"Morning, Sam."

Living in an underground compound, or, in general, anywhere without windows, it was astonishingly easy to lose one's sense of day versus night, and neither party was currently aware that it was seven in the evening.

"Hey, Charlie, how's it going?" Sam munched his Lucky Charms gingerly. He had a terrible hangover, added to the residual pain of his slow recovery to make one giant cocktail of sore and unhappy. He hadn't even bothered to make a healthy decision food-wise. It hurt to chew.

"You, uh, you have a little something," Charlie said, motioning at her forehead. Sam sighed, remembering his fruitless efforts to wash off the black marks on his face that had only resulted in a giant dark smudge stretching from his eyebrows to his hairline.

"I know. Long story," he said simply.

Charlie raised her eyebrows.

"Dean?" She guessed.

"Yep."

Charlie crossed the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboards for a bowl.

"Any Lucky Charms left?"

"Yeah. Kevin likes 'em, so we keep 'em around. And that means we have enough for a four-month siege."

Charlie grunted in approval. She set her bowl down with a loud clunk and poured herself an impressive heap of the sugary cereal.

"I ain't complaining," she said.

They ate in silence for a while, Charlie saving the marshmallows for last and Sam wincing every time he moved his jaw.

Finally, they had both finished their mountains of Luck, and Charlie grabbed Sam's bowl to put in the sink alongside hers.

"Okay, talk," she said eventually, now occupying the seat across from his.

"Uh. Nice weather we're having."

"How's your recovery going? Your fog breather friend told me all about everything last night, and it didn't sound pretty."

"Frog-wha-"

" Your British person friend. But never mind that."

Sam exhaled. He hated the murky state his brain was currently in. He fantasized momentarily about breaking his brother's jaw, but waded back through the swamp to string together an answer.

"Good-ish, I s'pose."

"You look like Death."

"Nah, 've met death an' he's an old guy."

"Okay."

"Also I am hungover."

"Oh." Charlie furrowed her eyebrows, sighed, and frowned disapprovingly at him. "What'd you do that for?"

"Dean."

"You're a grown-ass man," Charlie reprimanded.

"I guess," Sam said, mock doubt playing at the edges of his tone of voice.

"...but I imagine that Dean could make a toaster oven sit down and have a drink with him."

"He does have a certain...charm," Sam acquiesced.

"Cas sure seems to think so," she said without thinking about it.

"Yeah. Yeah, poor guy."

"Must have been like chickens, you know?"

Sams quinted at her.

"Chickens," he repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. You know, when they like, hatch, they latch on to the first thing they see as their mother and get all attached and stuff."

Sam blinked.

"I mean, Dean was the first human Cas, like got involved with."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're saying to me right now, Charlie."

"Just saying 'poor Castiel'. For falling for Dean. Not that I actually think that. I was joking. Agh, I'm so awkward sometimes. More like al l of the time."

"Oh. No, I meant poor Castiel as in his P. S. T. D. stuff," Sam clarified.

"P... S. T. D., Sam?"

"P. T. D. S."

"Go back to bed."

"P. T. S. D.?" Sam tried one more time.

"Bingo. You've advanced to the next level on _Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?_!" Charlie made sarcastic jazz hands. "A-a-a-a-a-a-and, it changes... absolutely nothing. Go back to bed."

"But I got it right," Sam protested indignantly.

"Oh, I'm so proud. Go to bed."

* * *

**Mini Sherlock fic. THIS IS ALL MY BRAIN CAN DO AFTER THAT TRAILER U GUYZZZZ**

**"John, I'm ho-HOOOOLY SHIT!"**

**"Omfg, hey, Sherlock. In the time you were gone I realized I'm in love with you. What's a matta?"**

**"You have. A mustache."**

**"Yes. I named him after you."**

**"This is why we can't have nice things!"**

* * *

**dat mustache tho rlly**


	40. Peachy

**Hey guys! I'm eating the best hamburger ever. It's got onions, ketchup, mustard, and relish on it. I have no idea why I'm saying this. Whatever. Hamburger hamburger hamburger hamburger.**

* * *

Sam grunted as he plopped down on his bed.

"Why did I have to get so drunk?" The younger Winchester asked his bed room.

The room didn't answer, because often rooms cannot. Sam sighed and closed his eyes, head pounding. He couldn't decide whether to complain to Dean because it was his stupid idea or to make no mention at all to his older brother. _I was drinking soda. Soda. And Dean had to go and make that weird drink and now I have a monster headache, not to mention there's this stupid smudge on my forehead that wont go away and to top it all off I can't remember a thing I said._

Sam adjusted the blankets, unable to get comfortable. He realized that he was still in his clothing, and pulled off his jeans and his plaid shirt so that he was wearing only his boxers and grey T-shirt. Feeling a little more comfy, he rolled onto his side and shifted the pillows to support his head between his hulking shoulder and the mattress.

_But he has so much on his mind right now, what with Cas being...the way he is being lately. Sick? No, I am sick. Cas is mentally ill, I think. It must be tearing Dean apart. I can't believe it took something this big for him to finally get his head out of his ass and realize what that...that seven-year-old in a grown man's body means to him._

_I can't burden him with my problems on top of that._

Sam finally fell into a dreamless sleep, not even waking when Dean opened his door to check on him and quietly walking out again.

* * *

'How's Sam?" Cas asked, startling Dean. He hadn't been aware that the fallen angel was awake. He ignored the fact that it was really very uncanny that Cas knew that he was going to check on his brother. _Cas will always be uncanny, no matter what species he is, I guess._

"Sleeping," Dean said simply. He crawled beneath the covers and allowed himself to wrap an arm around Cas's chest.

_Am I doing this for his comfort- or mine_? Dean wondered briefly.

"Are you doing okay?" Cas asked.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Just peachy." Dean frowned in the darkness, noting that of course _Cas_ would worry about _him_ when the guy was practically...haunted.

"Really?"

"Mm, yeah," Dean muttered distractedly.

"You need to sleep," Cas told him gently. "Quit worrying."

Dean huffed out a laugh.

"I'm sorry, did I say something funny?" Cas asked, not hurt, but genuinely curious.

"No. No, it's nothing. I just- 'quit worrying'. I just wish that I could."

"Try," Cas urged him quietly.

"Cas, I've got a million things to deal with lately, not that that's any different than how it usually is, and I can't just 'quit worrying' no matter how badly I want to. I haven't stopped worrying since I was four years old."

Cas didn't respond right away. Dean closed his eyes, relishing the warmth and comfort of his celestial boyfriend. He listened to the grounded angel's breathing, ashamed at himself for snapping at Cas.

"You don't need to worry. You're home." After a beat, he added, "You're safe. Stop worrying."

"I'm worried about Sam, about the trials and the alarmingly hard toll they've taken on his body. I'm worried about the demons, who are probably in anarchy down in hell 'cause we've kidnapped their leader. I'm worried that they'll come looking for Crowley and kill us. I'm worried that Crowley will start changing back to his old self because the transaction didn't go through completely. I'm worried about Benny in Purgatory. I'm worried about Kevin and how he gets all epileptic or whatever when he's translating. I'm worried about everyone in this bunker because being close to a Winchester never, ever, ever ends well. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about your nightmares and the other angels and I'm worried that you're beating yourself up far more than necessary. I'm worried that we'll never be able to restore you to the way you were before."

Dean ended his rant and exhaled. It felt good to get it all out. At least, it felt good for a moment or two before he felt guilty for burdening Cas with his problems.

Now he's going to feel guilty for worrying me, and it'll just get worse and worse. He'll feel helpless and-

"Thanks for telling me," Cas offered softly. "I don't like it when you internalize this type of thing. Or anything."

Dean pulled Cas a little closer. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased that Cas was displaying some level of emotional comprehension or angry that it was necessary for him to. Either way, he was glad that the angel was here with him.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Just tell me these things, okay?" Cas asked quietly.

"From now on, I'll tell you," Dean said, but the words sounded bleak and empty as he spoke them. He knew that he couldn't, wouldn't ever take his problems out on Cas, even if he was asked to.

"Good." Cas said. Dean shut his eyes, waiting for sleep to take over once again.

"Good night, Cas," he said quietly.

"Wait, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you compare your state of emotional well-being to a piece of fruit?"

"What?"

Cas shifted around. "You said you were 'peachy'."

Dean had to literally bite his tongue to keep from laughing. There was something so refreshing about seeing Cas acting like his old self once again.

"It's a metaphor, Cas. A figure of speech."

"Oh. Okay," Cas said, still seeming a bit confused.

"When something is 'peachy' or 'peachy keen'- which sounds stupid, by the way, don't say 'peachy keen'- it means that it's just fine."

"But you're not 'peachy'."

"I don't know, I'm feeling a lot better now," Dean said. "Now, are you going to let me sleep or not."

"Sleep peachy," Cas said seriously. Dean smiled into the darkness and shifted closer into his warmth, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling Dean into sleep.

* * *

**I JUST REALIZED THAT I'VE REACHED FORTY CHAPTERS THIS IS CRAZY MAN OKAY ERIOUSLY I'M SERIOSULY LIKE BOUNCING OFF THE CWALLS RIGHT NOW BWECAUSE FORTY CHAPTERS AND TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWS AND THREE HUNDRESD REVIEWS ASDFGHJKL; ASDFGHJKL; ASDFGHJKL; ASDFGHJKL; ASDFGHJKL; ASDFGHJKL; DID I MENTION ASDFGHJKL; QWERTYUIOPASDFGHJKL;ZXCVBNM,**


	41. Montages

**So I've been having trouble motivating myself to go through all the raw material I wrote this summer to pull out veritable chapters that make some sort of sense? I don't know. I have so so so so much written but I need to comb it out. So basically I just sat in the living room where my sister just finally got to 4 x 01 Lazarus Rising and Cas and damn that is one intense scene and then I watched 8 x 23 Sacrifice and ALL THE DESTIEL FEELS I CAN'T AND THEN STUPID DEAN HAD TO GO AND SACRIFICE ALL THE FUTURE VICTIMS OF ANY DEMON for THE SAKE OF SAM AND ugH blergh **

**and cAAAASSSSS HE'S JUST SO BETRAYED WHAAAAAAAHHHH *SOBS DISGUSTINGLY* **

**WHE N IS OCTOMER ALREADY?!**

***cries and curls up into ball of molten feels***

* * *

"Um, Crowley, what the hell is this?" Kevin had been spending a particularly long day (night?) trying to differentiate between the characters for tree and angel, which were unrealistically similar and now there was THIS in the kitchen.

"A waffle bar," Crowley stated, as if it were the most natural and normal thing in the world.

"A waffle bar," Kevin repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, you know. Like a taco bar. Or a burrito bar. Or an ice cream sundae bar. Only with-"

"Waffles," Kevin said. "Let me guess."

"Bingo," Crowley said. "I got bored."

"So you decided to gather us some cavities?"

"I sure did. We got: M & Ms, a butt-load of whipped cream in vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate flavored varieties, caramel sauce, hot fudge sauce, strawberry syrup, chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, peanut butter chips-"

"Okay. I get the point," Kevin said, unable to fully process the spread in front of him. This thing killed his mother and was now unceremoniously offering him waffles. The tree-slash-angel glyph was seemingly branded into his vision and it was pulsating in varying neon hues, leaving him light-headed and somewhat dizzy.

"You okay, kid?" Crowley asked, but Kevin couldn't decipher his tone.

_Bitch killed my mom, bitch killed my mom, bitch killed my mom-_

"Kevin...?" Another voice, a female voice.

The pulsating symbol danced and shimmered in front of his vision, and he watched the room fall away and reorient itself upside down, and he was shaking, jerking, spasms from every muscle contracting and thrashing and

_I'm having a seizure._

Kevin?

He's having a fit of some sort, I think.

A blinding pain split through his head as it collided with the table leg, and he bit down, hard, on his tongue, and then he couldn't breathe, and that damn angel tree thing still shone green and purple and all the colors at once somehow until everything faded to a dull grey and then black and there was nothing, nothing but the haunting character.

* * *

"He's going to be okay for now?" Crowley asked anxiously. Charlie shrugged.

"He told me he's been getting seizures lately, and I had a stint as a nurse for a while. I made a sexy, sexy nurse," she reminisced briefly before shaking her head to ground herself once again. "And I figure, from what you guys have all collectively not told me, that living alone on a houseboat in the middle of nowhere with these problems and worse and recovering so he should recover. He's going to have quite the busted lip for a while though."

"Are Rocky and Bullwinkle-" Crowley paused for a moment, unable to come up with a continuation of the metaphor to include Cas- "and, um, Cas still asleep?"

"Yeah, 's far as I can tell. I don't fancy waking up Dean and Cas, 'cause which ever one I wake first will try and attack me to protect the other one until they realize I'm not a threat and Sam was pretty, um, under the weather."

"Would you care for a waffle, my lady?"

"Sure."

* * *

_"Who are you?"_

_Dean lifted back his sleeve to reveal a raised and swollen pink mark in the eerie shape of a hand print-_

_"Castiel."_

_Glass shattered everywhere, showering him with millions of crystalline shards pushed airborne by the force of the wavelengths coursing through the-_

_"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?"_

_He's sitting in a bar with Cas, and he's talking, unable to process that of all the times Cas has 'died' that this time might be final, and he doesn't want to address why it means so much to him, but the fleeting hurt in those blue eyes, however momentary, doesn't go unnoticed, and they drink their beers and wait for another angel-_

_"...angel of the Lord."_

_-wearing scrubs now, in the deserted basement rec room of a mental hospital, the game _Sorry!_ held tightly in his hands, perpendicular to the table-_

_"...family...we need you. I need you..."_

_Dean's kneeling, face bloodied and broken and covered in blood, and Cas's eyes are filled with an unsettling distance. A knife clatters to the floor, and Dean shies away from his touch, but Cas has broken free and presses his fingers forward and he's healed but Cas is-_

_"...more profound bond..."_

_An old barn, the lights exploding, huge, dark wings unfolded; shadows against a wall-_

_"So this is it? E. T. goes home?"_

Dean woke up with a sharp intake of breath, the dizzying kaleidoscope of memories rushing at him from all angles. He sat up, struggling to resurface as each moment shared between him and Cas whizzed around and swirled and finally faded away.

The angel he had been dreaming about lay face-down in the bed next to him, the faintest sound of his breathing rhythmic and even. As Dean's eyes adjusted, he settled himself back in next to the angel, lying on his side with his chest pressed against Cas and an arm slung over his back. A rush of emotion hit him hard, as he recalled the infinity of tiny steps that had brought them here.

"Guess we've been headed down this road for a while, huh, Cas?" Dean said softly.

Cas stirred but did not wake, and Dean was glad that he was free of nightmares even if it was just for a little while.

_Since we met_, something told him.

* * *

**Again, this story is kind of losing any coherency factor it once had**

**"THE ANGELS THEY'RE FALLING" OH HELP ME GOD**

**please i am going to breaak doooown with everything ugh i cannpot and my sister is asking me why the 'barn angel dude' is so great and i almost just short circuited trying to compose my thoughtssssssssssss**


	42. Cheeky Bastard

"Spill it, Cas. What's up?" Dean prodded gently as Cas swallowed and looked around nervously. They had been lazing around all day, as Cas discovered board games (Dean was hugely grateful that the bunker didn't have Sorry!).

Then, Cas had wandered off to find Sam for some reason and Dean was making burgers for dinner

"I was just, uh." Cas didn't meet his eye and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Cas, it's okay. Just say what you want to."

Cas hesitated. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. "It's Saturday evening," he pointed out.

"I guess. I don't think I've been keeping track of the days much." Dean paused. "Is there something you want to do?"

"Tomorrow is Sunday morning," Cas blurted.

"Yeah, it is-" Dean started. Oh.

What usually goes on on Sunday morning?

"I was just wondering- I mean, you don't have to do anything- it's just, I can't drive and I want to attend a church service maybe." Cas took a breath, looking relieved to have gotten it over with.

"You still want to go, even after-" Dean cut off suddenly. He was horrified at himself, at his sheer lack of tact-

"Yes. I think it would help me," Cas said. He didn't seem bothered by Dean's earlier statement. Dean softened instantly.

"Of course we can go. I needed an excuse to take the Impala in for a few new windows, she's tired of being ridden around with all of her windows down."

Cas looked affronted. Dean's face fell.

"So you're not coming with me?" He asked softly, blue eyes saddened.

"Of- of course I am, dummy. I just, ah, I just figured I could drop it off before the service starts, and then we could grab some lunch somewhere or something, go shopping, ice cream, whatever, until the car is ready to be picked up." Dean was improvising, words spilling out of his mouth without consent. In fact, he had planned none of this. He had intended to drop Cas off and wait, but upon seeing his face Dean could tell it meant more to Cas than he could possibly understand.

"You mean, like a date?" Cas questioned, his head tilted as he processed his mental database of human courting rituals.

"In a church!?" Dean exclaimed. "Cas, you don't take someone to church for a date. Hell, I don't know. Mormons might. But-"

"I, um, I kind of hoped afterwards," Cas clarified shyly, rubbing absently at the back of his neck.

"Oh," Dean stated dumbly.

"Again, you don't have to do anything with me that you don't want to do-" Cas said, taking his hesitation for a negative reply.

"No! No, no, Cas, I would- I'd love it. If we had. Um. A date, I guess. A real date."

"We can just play with our ears then, okay?" Cas asked. Dean quirked his eyebrow.

"Cas, I think what you're trying to say is 'to play it by ear'."

"Oh." Cas smiled. "Idioms and metaphors are hard to remember sometimes."

"It's okay. It's kind of adorable." Dean smiled at him. Cas looked at him fondly, his electric blue eyes focused on Dean's olive green ones.

"Are men supposed to be adorable?" The fallen angel tilted his head in thought.

"Not really," Dean said. "Calling someone adorable is... Well, it's really, really gay," he finished, laughing.

"So..." Cas looked even more confused. "I still don't get it."

"That's okay. It doesn't matter." Dean was going to say something else, but he was abruptly distracted when he saw Cas's gaze flickered down to his mouth, biting his own bottom lip absently, obviously not listening.

"Hmmm." Cas said, not really meaning it.

"Cas, Dean said, teasing him. "Do I have something on my face? My eyes are up here," he chided gently.

Cas looked up mechanically, eyes wide and embarrassed, a pale red flush creeping across his face as he realized what he was doing, and that he had been called out on it.

"Sorry," he said guiltily. Dean smiled. He wasn't really mad at all. And Cas was reminding him of a puppy who left his favorite chew toy inside his master's shoe. Busted.

Dean whispered an "it's okay," and realized what he wanted to do. He took a half step forward, away from the counter, effectively closing the admittedly small gap between them. He rested the inside of his forearm on Cas's hip, and rested his head an inch from Cas's.

"You've never exactly been good at being subtle," he whispered.

"Gets the point across pretty well," Cas breathed.

"Oh? And what point would you be trying to make here?" Dean teased. Their foreheads were pressed together now, and their eyes were closed.

"I forget," Cas said, as Dean felt a hand ghosting up his back and settling on the back of his neck.

"Oh?" Dean asked.

"I think you need to remind me," Cas said.

"You're a cheeky bastard, you know that?" Dean grunted out.

"What's 'cheeky' mean?"

"I forget," Dean said, smirking.

Cas made a frustrated growl from the back of his throat. Dean inhaled as his heart stuttered briefly.

"Dean," Cas whined, his left hand moving from Dean's lower back to his hip.

"You want something?" Dean smirked, causing the tiniest brush of lips. Cas shivered. "A blanket maybe?"

"Sorry for being cheeky," Cas said sincerely. His hand slipped down to lightly cup Dean's ass, making gasp.

"Yeah? Well, I think there's a couple a things you can do to make it up," Dean recovered.

"Hmm?" Cas said, moving his hand slightly. "Like what, exactly?"

"I have a few things in mind."

"Care to share?" Cas said, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Cas. We're in the kitchen and I have raw hamburger all over my hands," Dean remembered suddenly.

"And?" Cas demanded impatiently.

"And we do have a room, you know."

"This is a room, too," Cas declared stubbornly. Dean smiled.

"Well, it is only six," he reasoned. "I guess dinner can wait awhile."

Reluctantly, he stepped away from Cas, ignoring the pull in his chest. He ran his hands under the waiter, impatiently as Cas leaned against the counter, inspecting his fingernails, feigning disinterest.

"Ready?" Dean asked coolly. If Cas was going to play hard to get, then Dean was going to play it right back.

Cas looked up at him, expression unreadable as he stood back up with a twitch of his hips. Dean bit down, not willing to let himself lose so early.

"Yeah," Cas said. They walked slowly towards their room, speeding up slightly the closer they got. Somehow, their hands had found their way together, and Dean smirked as he opened the door.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being pressed against the now-closed door and pinned to it, a hand possessively on his chest.

"Cas," he gasped, and then there were lips against his and he lost all focus. He flickered his tongue out to taste Cas's chapped lips, the small squeaking noise from the other man all the conformation he needed.

He shivered as he remembered how inexperienced Cas was. He certainly made up for it with his earnestness, but he was clearly unprepared for pressing someone up against a wall. Dean kissed Cas's jawline, making his way to his neck, knowing that it was a sensitive spot for him, and nipped him sharply, earning a fluttering gasp from the fallen angel for his efforts.

Dean used the momentary distraction to grab Cas and swing them around, so that they were positioned on the adjacent wall, Cas all too willing to give up dominance in favor of Dean's skill.

"Ready?" Dean asked breathlessly, slipping his hand up under Cas's shirt.

"Ready," Cas heard himself reply.


	43. Together

**Hey guys! I'm at the beach with my family (I was with my mom's side, the crazy people as earlier described, and now I'm with my dad's side: Grandma MacIvern, my dad's sister, Aunt Sheila, and her weird not-husband, sort-of-uncle Tim). My grandmother likes my sisters far more than me, so she showers them with stuff and leaves me well enough alone, which is fine by me. My mom always feels guilty about this, however, and ends up flashing the ol' black debit card around (today she bought me an insanely expensive Lacoste sweater because 'it's soft and grey matches your eyes') which is okay by me. I don't know what to say to Tim. I don't know what he does for a living, I don't know what his personality is like, I don't even know his last name. Aunt Sheila likes the things my sisters like, i. e. lacrosse and boots and being HEALTHFUL and living an ACTIVE LIFESTYLE**

**Yay dysfunction. But our summer home has wireless internet, so...**

**Warning: All the stuff Cas says about church and stuff is taken directly from my experiences growing up in a Christian family. I am (was never really) Episcopalian, and I do have to admit that I admire their openness and acceptance of all sort of individuals. I don't mean to offend any Christians, again, I'm writing from my hours upon hours in an old church and in Catholic school religion class and, most recently, my fun times this summer at a small rural church where the pastor literally spent the sermon ranting about homosexuals and 'other dangerous, odd folks' and I might be a little bitter over that. Again, I'm bisexual, and that was a difficult moment for me.**

**But thank you all for the huge amount of support this story has amassed! I can't believe how popular it has gotten! Every time I read a review, I grin like an idiot, and every time I check my 'F. F.' inbox on my phone or laptop, I am blown away by everyone's positive feedback! And the fact that over two hundred people are reading this blows my mind. Ugh, I love you all so much. I hope you enjoy reading this even a fraction as much as I enjoy writing this! My heart beats 'Destiel, destiel, destiel, destiel...' and I'm so happy to know that others' hearts do too!**

**I fucking love this fandom.**

**Okay, carry on. Stay awesome, y'all.**

* * *

Dean woke up feeling cold but well-rested. More than well-rested, he felt great; relaxed for the first time in...Hell, it was a long time, wasn't it? He slowly realized that he was clutching tightly to a pillow, and he wondered where Cas was. The service started at ten thirty, and it was located about an hour away. Dean checked the time: seven eighteen.

He stretched and yawned, briefly considering staying in bed but it seemed pointless to sleep in all alone. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt.

In the kitchen, he realized that someone had cleaned up his aborted attempts at cooking hamburger, and he couldn't help the small smile that flickered across his features as he remembered the details of what exactly had kept them from finishing dinner.

He and Cas had kissed for hours, slowly stripping down until only their underwear remained. Dean was proud of how well he had contained himself, but granted, it hadn't been easy with all of the delicious noises Cas had been making. In short, Cas drove him completely crazy but he knew that he needed time, so he backed down, feeling like a teenager all those times when sex was not a viable option so he had just kissed long and kissed fantastically, frustrated but excited. And, in a way, Dean kind of relished the way that not getting off led to more time to be close to Cas, to forget whose body was whose and float along in the hormone-induced tide of buzzed happiness.

Towards the end of their world record-worthy make-out session, Cas had just laid back for a fleeting second and had looked at Dean, really looked, and Dean couldn't breathe for a moment at the powerful rush of affection and desire that washed over him. Then, they were kissing again, and he let himself be underneath Cas for a while, telling himself that he wanted Cas to try taking control for a bit when really he longed to be swept away in Cas, in his body and mind and body and spirit and body- ugh. He felt tingly, absolutely tingly, at the thought of Cas's mostly-bare body on top of his, so much skin on skin on skin, remembering how dizzying and intoxicating Cas smelled. He allowed a surge of pride to course through him as he realized that Cas sort of... well, he sort of smelled familiar. He smelled like navy blue and the ocean's depths and huge, misty forests and musky cabins lit by a dying fire in the hearth, like snows that came overnight and blanketed everything in calm and beauty, like excitement and power and-

Dean smiled at the way his imagination ran in dizzy circles when it came to Cas. Maybe he'd limit it to navy blue and vast forests for now. But most importantly, he could smell himself in those infinite sensations. And that, that had caused something deeply buried and primal to wake up. Cas smelled like him. Cas was his.

_Cas is mine._

Briefly, Dean wondered if he smelled a bit like Cas, too.

He certainly hoped so.

* * *

After pushing away the arousal that clouded his mind at the sight of Cas's tightly fitting shirt, the morning passed pretty uneventfully for Dean. He kissed the fallen man briefly- okay, maybe a little tiny bit more than briefly- in lieu of a_ good morning_, and they had breakfast, of which Cas actually ate. Seeing him eat something made Dean happy and, though he himself might not have noticed, _hopeful_ for his... angel. Cas had showered and combed his hair for once, and Dean sort of missed the way it stuck up at all angles, but was quickly consoled by imagining what he could do that might mess it up again.

"Ready to go?" Dean had asked gently as he finished his coffee and put the mug in the sink with some water to make it easier to clean later. Cas nodded quietly and he couldn't help feeling positively elated by the fact that he had been eating on real plates in his own home with his own little family and they were out of danger enough to go to church.

As they climbed into the car, Cas fiddled nervously with his- Jimmy's- old blue tie. Dean knit his eyebrows together as he stuck the key into the ignition, behind the steering column that he practically had considered home all these years, but he had Cas now, and while his car was dear to him, it couldn't run its hands through his hair and touch him softly and sometimes touch him not-so-softly and it didn't have blue eyes or a pretty soul the way Cas did.

"Are you worried?" Dean asked quietly after a little while, looking over at Cas, who was lost in thought, staring out at the whirling landscapes and tall trees.

"A little," Cas admitted quietly. He was thankful Dean hadn't put on any of that loud, jarring music he liked so much, as it distracted him from his already tangled thoughts.

"Want to talk about it?"

Whoah, call in the helicopters, ladies and gents, Dean Winchester just broached the topic of feelings.

"I just want God's forgiveness," Cas said meekly.

Dean's heart broke a little at this admission. Somewhere ingrained deep inside himself he knew that God would forgive Castiel before Castiel had sinned, but that the real underlying issue was Castiel forgiving himself.

They drove in silence for a while, Cas counting how many birds he saw out the window and Dean sneaking long glances at Cas.

Finally, they were nearing the mechanic's garage, and Dean realized that Cas was humming quietly to himself.

_I freaking love that guy._

* * *

"You ready?" Dean asked, coming to stand beside Cas outside the garage. Cas snapped out of the placid trance he had been in and nodded yes to Dean.

"Refresh my memory," Cas said as they headed off down the street. "Have you gone to church services before?"

"I used to go when I was little, Mom would take me. Then she had Sam, and she was with him all the time, and then..." Dean trailed off, still saddened by the events that had taken place that crisp autumn night all those years ago before shaking himself and continuing. "Then we would go whenever Dad felt like it, which was rarely at most, and sometimes Sam would ask me to take him if we were left alone on a Sunday. We went a few times when we were staying with someone religious, and I've gone in to blend in. But I'm not exactly what you would call pious or devout. Hell, you can't even call me religious."

"God favors you, Dean," Cas remarked before replying. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine. We're going to an Episcopal church, which is Anglican, or 'Protestant', you might say, along with quite a few other branches like Methodist, Pentecostal, Lutheran, Calvinist, Unitarian, Anabaptist, Presbyterian, Quaker, Fundamentalist, Mennonite, Baptist... There were a few in town, a Roman Catholic, a Baptist, and an Episcopal, but the times for the Episcopalian services were later and Episcopalianism is, I have found, one of the most diverse and welcoming sects of Christianity there is. They allow preachers and congregation members of any gender, sexual identity, race, nationality, et cetera, which makes me rather fond of them because I prefer it when Christians aren't exclusive. Also, you can be any sort of Christian to receive Holy Communion in most Protestant churches, Episcopalian churches included, but you can opt for a blessing rather than the Body and the Blood..."

Dean's attention wandered as he tried to recall when the last time he had gone to a church with the intention of actually going to church was. Had it been Catholic? 'Anglican', as Cas had said? He walked alongside Cas as he talked about foreign words like 'Holy Eucharist' and 'hymnal'.

Finally, they could see the church in the distance, and he grabbed Cas's elbow to hold him up for a moment.

"Cas, just wait up a sec, I just-" Dean frowned, gathering his thoughts. "What are we going to tell people? I mean, if they, like, you know, ask about us? I mean, are we just passing through? Have we moved in nearby? Are we..." Dean swallowed. "You said these folks are 'accepting', right?" He made air quotes around 'accepting', remembering how many times people had mistaken himself and Sam for a gay couple, and treated them coldly until he set them straight.

Cas tilted his head, obviously waiting for him to continue.

"I mean... Cas, are we _together_ for the next few hours?" Dean cringed internally at his choice of wording, but by some miracle Cas got the point.

"You mean to ask me if it is acceptable to show evidence of the romantic nature of our relationship around strangers?"

"Yeah. I mean, Episcopalians are nice, you said, but this is Kansas..."

"Perhaps you would feel more comfortable posing as something else?" Cas suggested.

"No!" Dean declared. "No." He inhaled deeply. "I love you, Castiel, and if the people of Kansas don't like it, then they know where they can suck."

Cas smiled.

"I would like that. Not hiding, I mean," he said shyly. Bubbles of quiet happiness fizzed around them at the idea that they could be...out.

"This is two thousand and thirteen. And we can be together," Dean said excitedly, not really caring that he was pointing out things that he and Cas both already had been made aware of.

"Let us not be too... affectionate, however, it is, after all, a place of worship..."

"Wasn't planning on it," Dean said with an overly innocent look on his face.

"You? Never," Cas chided.

"So... Let's say that... We're from Lawrence, but we inherited a home from my grandfather out here, and we come on long weekends, whenever we can both get away from work, and we met on active duty in Afghanistan, and now I teach and you...you're a musician who writes on the side and we have a cat-"

"Dean," Cas said, pulling him out of his fantasy. "Most of that is true already."

Dean blinked.

"You got the Men of Letters bunker from your grandfather, Henry Winchester, and you come here whenever you can get a break from work. You're from Lawrence, and we met as soldiers, though admittedly not in Afghanistan. I may not be a musician or- or a writer, but you've taught me everything," Cas said.

Dean could barely contain his small smile from creeping out across his face.

"And we're together," he said, the small pleasure from those words and the meaning behind them causing to feel like...whatever. Anything that's really, really happy.

"And we're together," Cas confirmed, taking Dean's hand as they walked off to the church.

Together.

* * *

**Two things: After consideration, I imagined that Castiel's knowledge of the actual intricacies of the various sects of Christianity might be rusty, as the angels seem to me to be more focused on overall God-worship than on the humans' God-worship... if that makes sense? So I didn't verify the facts, I pulled 'em out of my head. And again, please don't get offended if you're from Kansas or if you're not Christian or Protestant or Episcopalian. I am an atheist myself, and I don't care what other people choose to believe, as long as they are accepting of others. There are more important things, like the quality of a person's character, to judge on, I think, so go on believing whatever the hell you want, whether you're atheist, agnostic, Rastafarian, pastafarian, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, a Jedi, Hindu...**

**Secondly: a while back in the story, I had mentioned Cas going to Holy Communion, and I got a review wondering why the angels partook in such activities before the creation of mankind and therefore preceding Christ and Christianity. My answer is that in my various religion and theological studies, I got the idea that the metaphorical Christian God had always intended to send Jesus to us lowly mud monkeys, and therefore I found it highly plausible that in this universe it existed in Heaven long before it existed down on Earth. A lot of Christians seem to believe that the three-parted God (the father, the son, and the holy ghost) are united; that they are one and the same, therefore Jesus was God and therefore he spread heavenly religion down here. (also bringing me to my absent God theory- that God is absent in Supernatural because he sent himself back again as Jesus and maybe something went a little wrong on the way, and he doesn't really know what he is or maybe he does and he can't do anything about it)**

**WHEW**

**Okay, no more brain tonight... time to put on my alt-J record and sleep.**

**And now, I will shamefully tell you all that reviews really make evident the fact that people are reading this and they fuel my eagerness to write faster and better. So, no pressure.**

**Lots of love, your consulting TARDIS banana angel.**


	44. Old Wounds Made New

**Holy shit, it has been over a month. I relapsed rather suddenly and very immaculately into my old eating disorder. Life is kind of difficult right now, and I spend most of it lying in bed. I feel really bad about abandoning this story for a while, but I think I'm recovering pretty well. And now, the feature presentation~!**

**(recap: they are going to church while the Impala is in the shop, and headed for a real date afterwards)**

* * *

Church made Dean squirm. He always forgot how uncomfortable he felt in services until he actually was roped into attending one. Even when their lives were just exorcising Stunt Demon No. Three and the occasional vampire or two, church made him squeamish. He was a killer, a liar, an adulterer, a glutton and a million other things churches apparently frowned upon.

It was infinitely worse after he was raised from Hell.

Now, he knew God existed and it felt as if he was actively blaspheming rather than just not believing. Before, he could soothe himself with 'I'm an atheist and that's okay' but he was now filled with a burning dislike for the guy. _It's normal to detest your father-in-law, right?_ Dean thought.

He hated seeing all the faithful worshipers singing praises to a god he knew was absent. All of these old ladies clad in flowery dresses and even more flowery perfumes, the men in their generic button-downs and ties that their kids bought them for Father's Day, the choir members in their blue robes, the children with their cutesy songs and images of a cherubic young boy cuddling lambs and goats... It all seemed so pointless, silly drones marching in circles because their ancestors did. He wanted to stand up and shout that God didn't care, he never did, that the archangels were gone and the rest of the Host of Heaven powerless and mortal. It sickened him to look at the innocent, naive faith these people held for their apathetic- and long gone- deity.

He ended up observing Cas for most of the time anyway.

The fallen angel was enraptured. He seemed calm and peaceful, quite literally in his element. The stained glass windows were the only source of light, and the colors danced across the faces of the congregation as they sat and prayed and stood and sang and knelt when Simon said. Dean followed along numbly, not because he bought into the stuff but because he didn't want to draw attention to himself and Cas unless completely necessary. The kneeling hurt his knees and lower back, and the wooden pews were stiff and unyielding no matter how much he fidgeted.

If Cas noticed Dean's discomfort, he had the good judgement not to acknowledge it. Dean watched him as he participated in the service, wondering if all angels knew every prayer and psalm and hymn by heart. They probably did.

Finally, finally, the sermon finished up (a lecture on how God was more prevalent than ever in these trying times- _ha_) and they were on to the final hymn.

"Please open your hymnals to hymn number eight and join us as we sing praises to our Lord."

Dean could think of a few things he's like to sing at God, praises far from making the list.

But despite those thoughts, he opened his maroon Hymnal 1983 (_had he been holding it upside down this whole time?!_?) and followed along as the congregation sang:

_Morning has broken,_  
_Like the first morning,_  
_Blackbird has spoken,_  
_Like the first bird._  
_Praise for them singing,_  
_Praise every morning._  
_Praise for them springing_  
_Fresh from the word._

Dean stood next to Cas, following the words in his mind as he listened to Cas's deep singing voice. He hadn't realized that Cas had such an excellent singing voice, but he supposed he should have known based on his rather excellent speaking voice and the experience his body probably had with singing hymns.

The way the hymns were written confused him. There were lines under other lines, but they weren't sung next, and he didn't know how to read the notes and little symbols that everyone else seemed to grasp instantly. The song jumped around the page, skipping and repeating, so he gave up and contented himself to just listen.

The song, hymn number eight, was beautiful, and the lyrics seemed to dwell on the wonders of Earth rather than its creator, and Dean could feel that. He supposed, grudgingly, that he ought to be thankful to God for that. He hadn't realized he was holding Cas's hand until the fallen angel squeezed it gently between two of the verses.

_Sweet the rain's new fall,_  
_Sunlit from Heaven._  
_Like the first dew fall,_  
_On the first grass._

The harmonies in the song were appealing, and he had to admit that it wasn't bad. You know, for a hymn.

_Praise for the sweetness_  
_Of the wet garden,_

In his mind he was reminded of Joshua and Heaven's garden. He wondered if Joshua was out wandering somewhere. Maybe he could find a job at a conservatory. Or perhaps an aviary. The thought made Dean smile.

_Sprung in completion_  
_Where His feet pass._

Yeah, there was that whole pesky God thing. The organ music swelled and floated through the air before the final verse, and somehow the congregation started exactly at the same time, as if actors playing a part. He wondered how many of them truly believed in God, and who was doing it for their families, for the morals and the sense of community not for an actual love for their God. Maybe it was the things he'd seen in his life, the terrible, awful tragedies, children killed and families torn apart, torture and death and evil, but he didn't understand how so many millions of Christians just coughed and looked the other way, insisting that their God loved them.

_Mine is the sunlight,_  
_Mine is the morning_  
_Born of the one light_  
_Eden saw play._

These Christians really did love their garden imagery, noted Dean.

_Praise with elation,_  
_Praise every morning,_  
_God's recreation_  
_Of the first day._

The organ music ceased and the pastor dismissed the congregation as the churchgoers stirred and shuffled, setting their hymnals once again into the backs of the pews before them. Men loosened their bland ties and women smoothed their skirts unnecessarily as children shed sweater vests and cardigans to go run around in their Mary Janes and miniature loafers. Adults who didn't really care about one another made stiff, polite conversation and painfully untrue suggestions of having each other over for dinner some time. Old folks popped mints for their halitosis. Sulky teens turned their phones back on as their younger siblings played around. What a cute flock of sheep they were.

Dean smiled at a little girl running un-chased up and down the secondary aisle, taking breaks at random intervals to tug on the sleeves of her generic parents. She smiled back before running away again, probably despairing over why her parents so desperately needed to converse with other flavorless adults.

"Dean, we can go now," Cas said finally, watching Dean gaze fondly at the little kids. It tugged on his heart that Dean probably didn't even realize what he was doing, had stifled the longing in him for green grapes cut in half so that babies wouldn't choke, of bickering over whose turn it was to provide snack for the soccer team, of truly awful school plays with terrible songs yelled in off-key voices, of hand-me-down clothing and Easter egg hunts and 'no, honey, we can't get a kitty because your daddy's allergic' and cherry Tylenol and bug bites and movie nights.

Cas swallowed, uneasy with the amount of vivid detail his brain had conjured up. His vessel, Jimmy, poor hapless James Novak, had had a lovely all-American picket fence life, with a reasonable-looking wife and a little girl. Cara? Charlo- Claire. Her name was Claire.

He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of a young girl left fatherless. He wondered how he could have been so cruel without any hesitations, to Claire and the reasonable-looking wife and to Jimmy himself.

Oh, right, because he had been a self-righteous ass-butt who didn't care a bit about the mindless...guppies. What difference did the brief heartache of a fleeting speck of dust or two matter when he was helping save them all from the celestial vacuum cleaners named Michael and Lucifer?

Operative words: had been.

Had been.

As in, was but is not currently. Cas forced himself not to dwell on the Novaks. But it was too late. His mind was flooded with questions, such as_ Is Claire technically a blood relation now?_ and_ If I had ended up with a female and procreated, would it be Jimmy's child or mine?_ and _Should I find the Novaks? Apologize for what I have done?_

The little girl was back, having grown tired of pulling on her father's blue button down. She raced up and down the aisle, bored and full of energy enough to power an obscure country in Eastern Europe for a week.

Dean seemed enraptured. The little girl was what, five? Six years old at most? She wasn't fond of being ignored and getting lots of 'just a minute, sweetheart' from behind gritted teeth from the adults she loved. Nice Church Couple Number One continued to talk to Nice Church Couple Two, all 'how's your mother doing?' and 'I love the new gelato place uptown'.

She wandered over to the edge of their pew, where Dean had somehow shifted away from Cas and was standing right up next to the aisle. Timidly, she whispered a 'hi' and hid her face in her hands.

"Hey, kid," Dean offered, no doubt flashing that winning smile that loosened lips (and legs) countless times before, ever the charmer.

"Hi," the girl said again, a little bolder now that the strange man was declared benevolent.

"I like your watch," Dean said softly. "Are those dragons?"

"Yeah. My mommy said it was for boys, 'cause dragons are for boys, but Uncle Ricky noticed and gave it to me for my birthday last week."

"Good for him. I like those dragons. So, how old are you now?"

"Six and five days," the girl said proudly, grinning widely, flashing a missing front tooth among shining pearly whites.

Nagging kids to brush their teeth. Cas hoped Dean wasn't remembering all those bedtimes with Ben, or buying the fun flavors of toothpaste to promote healthy oral hygiene.

"Wow. Are you going to start driving soon?"

"No." The girl giggled sweetly. Cas felt a constricting sensation in his chest. Dean was sitting again, facing her, body language sending out an air of contentedness and love, love for this random kid and any other random kids.

He remembered suddenly a time, back when he used to observe Dean quite a bit (he was bored a lot and the man interested him- definitely not stalking. Oh, that must be shame, he thought briefly.) where Dean and... Jo? No, Jo was the younger one, it was Ellen. He was depressed, saddened beyond relief after a demon in a pre-school had murdered two young boys before Dean could get to him. Dean drank it out, pushed his brother away as usual. But at night (yes, Castiel watched Dean at night, too) he dreamt of those little children, once innocent and sweet and full of promise, their necks snapped and their tiny bodies garnished with dry blood. He talked to Ellen about it, years later, and though Cas didn't particularly care at the time, he had made a statement that now made his heart clench.

_"God, it's just... it's the kids. Days when I want nothing more than to just take a gun from the trunk and send a bullet through my skull, I keep going for the kids. But it just hurts too much when I lose them..."_

Dean Winchester, who drank more than Pan himself (Pan wasn't exactly a lightweight, either) and listened to loud, abrasive music, the Dean that Cas had seen put on a tough, unaffected air so many times... Dean loved children. Cas's chest was seriously hurting, like his rib cage had shrunk.

Being human was hard.

"Oh, you can't drive yet, huh? Bet you're the most popular girl in the whole high school though. The other kids would be stupid not to like someone so pretty." Dean kept talking, and the girl was clearly warming up to him, giggling and blushing pink at his lavish praises.

"No. I just finished pre-school," she admitted, smile unwavering.

"Pre-school?!" Dean feigned shock. "Wow. I never would have guessed. I'm too old to know, huh?"

Cas sat in the pew again, knowing that this would only make Dean hurt for what he had denied himself but at the same time unwilling- unable- to tear him away.

"You're not old. Gramps is old. He thinks I'm my mommy sometimes," the girl confided, her voice lowering to a whisper.

"Is your mommy as pretty as you?" Dean said, offering an upturned palm for the girl to take.

"She's pretty, but not when she's mad at me for leaving my crayons out. I left one in the car seat and it melted. There was green all over her favorite dress she bought me!"

"I bet it looked better with the green." Dean paused. "But what do I know? I'm too old to know the fashions."

"You don't look old. How old are you?"

_Time spent dead included, over a century_, Cas mused.

"Older than thirty," Dean said.

"Do you have any kids?"

Dean stilled, shoulders drooping minutely. He took a moment to think before he answered.

"No, sweetheart, I don't. I had a boy named Ben but he's gone now."

Cas felt his eyes smart at the bottomless sorrow Dean's answer held.

"Oh. In Heaven?" The girl took his hand comfortingly. "I bet my grandmothers make him cookies."

"I hope so," Dean answered, voice steady, but Cas could practically feel the pain seeping out.

"Do you want another? 'Cause Daddy told me that men and women can have babies. Are you married?"

Ouch, ouch ouch. Cas bristled, but Dean kept calm.

"No, I'm not married. Did your dad ever tell you that sometimes men fall in love with other men?"

The girl shook her head no.

"I don't have a wife because I'm not in love with a woman," he explained gently. The girl just nodded.

"Lucy has two moms," she said.

"See that man?" Dean turned his head in Cas's direction, and the girl looked over. Cas pretended to be occupied with the random Bible next to him on the seat. "That's Cas. We love each other like your parents love each other, and like Lucy's parents love each other. But some people don't accept that, and it makes it very difficult for people like Cas and me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, honey."

"That's silly." The girl scratched her arm. Then, "I don't think my dad likes me having play dates at Lucy's house."

"Well, just remember that family isn't always what people think. If you like Lucy, be friends with her. If you don't like Lucy, then don't play with her. Don't let what adults think is normal get in the way of that. Promise?"

"I promise," she said, nodding solemnly.

"Hey, is that your dad?" Dean motioned at the man in the blue shirt.

"Yeah."

"I think he is ready to leave. Go with him. And keep liking dragons."

"I will," she said and scampered off.

The second she turned her back on him, Dean slumped, pressing his palms into his face. Cas was filled with a new-found hatred for every single evil thing that had ripped from Dean what he wanted more than anything. Quietly, he moved over to sit next to Dean, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. Dean inhaled and exhaled deeply, and his old soul seemed on display in his face as he turned to Cas.

"Hey," he said softly. "Ready to go?"

Cas nodded, and they stood up. He dropped his hand, aware that perhaps Dean was aware of the girl's parents' alleged prejudice and probably not eager for openly flaunting their relationship. But Dean just pulled him into a tight embrace, un-moving for several minutes, relishing the comfort of a loved one's shoulder.

"Feel like some ice cream?" Dean grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. Cas nodded, hoping Dean couldn't tell that he'd just had his heart run over by the Impala.

Dean took his hand as they walked through town, and they talked about everything and nothing. He brushed off any stares they received, and by the time they got to the ice cream place, he seemed a bit happier.

Cas wondered if he would ever be able to disclose the fact that Ben was Dean's biological son. Would it make him happy that he had a child, or even sadder than beforehand? The former angel hated being burdened with all of these things, things that he had previously not cared enough to dwell on.

Sometimes he really hated his sudden humanity.

* * *

**UPDATE REALLY SOON, I PROMISE. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT, IT REALLY MAKES ME HAPPY. PEACE OWT, HOMIES**


	45. Fusions

**Hey dudes and dudettes, how's it hangin'? I had a bad day today (sad face) but then, in one of the rare moments of camaraderie between us, my sister and I randomly went out for Mexican food and ice cream, and it was totally awesome til she went to her voice lesson and I went to go register for a whole bunch a college stuff.**

**Anyhoo.**

* * *

"You mean you've never had ice cream?!" Dean gaped, open-mouthed, at the fallen angel beside him, as he regarded the menu board behind the freezers and register.

"I did not partake in human indulgences as an angel, and you have been the one to procure all of my meals since then. Thusly, it is safe to assume that, no, I have never tasted 'ice cream'," Cas responded, making air quotes. Dean chuckled and shook his head.

"Right. Well then. What looks good?" Cas looked around at the interior of the ice cream parlor. White marble floors, counters, and tabletops lent the establishment a sophisticated air. A family, obviously just coming from church, was chatting and eating, a couple of little boys taking spoonfuls of the other's lavish sundaes.

"Each of the flavors appeals to me equally, as I have not sampled any of them."

"We offer sample spoonfuls," the helpful youth behind the display freezer pointed out.

"Cool. Cas?" Dean nudged him.

"Not coffee," he said anxiously to the teenager, who looked a little put off by Cas's stiff, formal, off-kilter socialization.

"No, um, sir, you get to pick," she said, looking between them with a kindly face.

'Thank you', Dean mouthed at her as Cas was occupied with inspecting the Caramel Volcano flavor. She nodded, her face becoming friendly once again. Dean could almost see the assumption that Cas was mentally challenged light up in her mind.

"You can try as many as you want," she said to Cas, who continued his scrutinous gazes into the freezer.

"Cas, did you hear that? She offered you-"

"I wish to sample the 'White Chocolate Strawberry Fusion' variety as well as the 'Tiramisu Spectacular' flavor." Cas looked up at her.

"Sir, um, the 'Tiramisu Spectacular' is coffee flavored," the girl objected softly.

"Oh. Well, in that case, I shall sample the 'Caramel Volcano'."

The teenager smiled and set to work. Dean beamed at her.

"Here you are," she said, handing Cas the two little plastic spoons heaped with ice cream.

"Go on, try 'em," Dean encouraged. Cas gave him a lingering look before nodding and placing the 'Caramel Volcano' spoon in his mouth. Dean watched eagerly as Cas removed the now-empty spoon from between his lips and began to react. His face looked a little shocked at the coldness before the flavor began to affect him. His eyes opened wide with wonder, and he smiled.

Once he had finished, observed carefully by both Dean and the ice cream attendant, he began to speak.

"I enjoyed that immensely," he said. "However, the cold temperature surprised me."

"Try the other," the girl urged. Apparently she was warming up to him. Cas's gaze flickered to the minimalistic name tag pinned to her white button-down._ Kate_, it read.

"Thank you, Kate, I will," he replied formally. This time, he was more prepared for the coldness, and he reacted similarly to the flavor, smiling and looking pleased. Dean's chest was flooded with warmth at the simple joy of seeing Cas so happy. It seemed to be affecting the teenager, Kate, as well, and he felt a rare surge of affection for humanity. Granted, this girl obviously thought Cas had Asperger's Syndrome or something similar, but she was happy to make him feel important and loved. A perfect stranger, and she was being immensely kind.

"How about you, sir?" Kate asked, turning her gaze over to Dean.

"I, um, I'll have, uh, 'It Takes Two To Mango'," he improvised, setting his eyes on a flavor at random. "One scoop, in the pointy kind of cone," he directed, miming out a pointy cone with his hands.

"That would be a sugar cone," she said, gesturing at a display of cones and sizes.

"Sugar cone sounds perfect," he confirmed, and she began scooping away.

"And you?" Kate asked Cas, whose face began to look troubled.

"Dean, I cannot decide which flavor to order. I am fond of both of them equally, and I would regret not getting the other no matter which flavor I pick," he confided.

"Get 'em both," Dean said, waving a hand. "Though they will probably taste weird together."

"I assure you, the flavors will compliment each other in subjunction," Cas said seriously.

"Want to try a waffle cone?" Dean asked, pointing them out.

"Yes, I would like that very much," Cas said, nodding.

"All right then, go ahead."

"Um, can I please have the 'Caramel Volcano' and the 'White Chocolate Strawberry Fusion' in a waffle cone?" Cas ordered. Dean felt ridiculously proud for some reason.

"Absolutely, sir. Coming right up."

When she handed Cas the overflowing waffle cone, his eyes lit up in delight.

"Dean, this is- thank you," he stuttered. The corner of Dean's mouth lifted as he grinned at the fallen angel. He look a lick of his own ice cream, and it was really, really good. He handed the teen girl behind the counter a rather large amount of cash, and as she attempted to make change, he just waved her hand away.

"Keep it," he said simply, before hooking Cas's elbow in his own and walking down the street. Cas was totally ecstatic about the ice cream, and his childish enthusiasm was making Dean feel bubbly. The sky was looking a little cloudy, but Dean did not care in the least.

"I enjoy this immensely," Cas said, and Dean couldn't help but stare at the way he tilted his head and licked the 'Caramel Volcano', tongue impossibly pink as it ran along the creamy white and brown ice cream. He was not getting turned on. Totally was not. Nope, not him. Nobody turned on here. Try again later.

"This mango stuff is pretty good," Dean said, snapping out of his Cas-induced stupor when a trail of the pastel ice cream cascaded over his knuckles. He licked it up, sloppily, and focused on the flavor to distract himself from the happy noises Cas was making.

"Can I try?" Cas asked innocently. Knowing the adorable little bastard, it was probably sincere innocence, not flirting.

"Okay, but you don't do this with people you're not...you know, with," Dean explained, not wanting a possible future ice cream excursion to be made awkward with Cas's inexperience at socializing.

"You mean people with whom I do not wish to partake-"

"No one 'cept for me, 'kay?" Dean said. He offered the ice cream to Cas, who regarded it carefully before looking down at his own cone, debating what to do with it before just leaning in and taking a slow, blood-heating lick of his ice cream. Dean bit his lip. How was it possible, he wondered, for a previously heterosexual- hell, he had been straighter than a straight-edge or something, and now his insides were melting for a grown man eating ice cream. Ice cream, god damn it!

"It is very palatable," Cas said after a moment of careful consideration. "However, I do not favor it over the two flavors I chose."

"M'kay, then," Dean said. He tugged Cas's elbow, and they started walking again, Cas almost losing his balance several times as he focused on his ice cream.

They meandered back towards the auto mechanic's shop. Dean, who had ordered a smaller cone and had had previous close encounters of the ice cream kind, finished his and crunched on his cone. Humanity did some things right, he mused, and this luscious dessert was one of them. He licked the residual stickiness from his fingers, the movements of his arm causing Cas to lunge for his ice cream and miss completely, losing his balance and waving is arms around wildly in hopes of regaining said balance.

Unfortunately this caused his cone to collide with Dean's forehead, and the hunter spluttered as it smeared onto his skin. Cas, who was still a little wobbly, giggled at him.

"You have, uh, a something on your face," the clumsy man said giddily.

"You don't say," Dean deadpanned.

"Yeah, it's pink and white."

Dean glared at him and wiped hi forehead with the back of his hand, wiping it on Cas's back. He arched his body away, laughing, but there was already a white chocolate fusion strawberry whatever smear down the back of it. Cas howled in mock rage, and angrily licked his cone.

"Cas?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"You have something on your shirt," Dean gloated.

Cas narrowed his eyes and glowered at him as the hunter flashed his brightest grin.

"If I had my full angel powers," he gritted out, mock angry. Dean stilled for a moment, remaining unwilling to broach the touchy subject with Cas. But the fallen man rolled his eyes.

Dean smiled, warmed thoroughly at the casual manner in which his boyfriend tossed around the terrible, terrible events.

"D' you think we will be able to get you your Grace back?" He wondered softly, taking Cas's left hand in his right.

"I do not know," Cas admitted softly, sighing. He smiled sadly at Dean, who squeezed his hand supportively. "I believe it has been maimed beyond retrieval. The others, their graces will have been preserved somehow. But mine, mine was used up." Cas blinked, focusing on the trees that lined the street.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, stroking Cas's hand with his thumb.

"I know," Cas said, and they walked silently. Finally, Cas came to the end of his ice cream cone and he wolfed down the remaining waffle cone bits comically. Dean smiled, noting that the melted ice cream had been harder to eat neatly and that Cas had it all over his upper lip.

"Cas?"

"Yeah?" Cas looked up.

"You, uh, have something on your face," Dean said, yanking on Cas's hand to bring him closer, interlacing their fingers and knitting the fingers of his other hand through his hair.

Cas squeaked quietly in surprise, but as soon as he realized what was going on he softened into the embrace, one hand winding around the small of Dean's back, the other grabbing a fist of Dean's shirt.

Dean licked slowly across Cas's mouth, savoring the taste of the errant strawberry ice cream. When he had gotten it all, he repositioned his head so that he could lap eagerly at the fallen angel's mouth, savoring the whine that Cas let out as he parted his lips. Dean grunted, loving the way that his boyfriend became so deliciously submissive sometimes. He mapped out Cas's mouth with his tongue, feeling him lean more and more into Dean for support as his knees weakened.

The first few drops of rain went unnoticed, but as Cas began to recover and reassert himself into the kiss, they reluctantly lent attention to the fat rain drops landing on their heads and shoulders. It was the kind of rain that soaks everything moments after it starts, and Cas blinked upwards, getting a rain droplet on the nose.

"It's raining," he observed solemnly.

"No shit," Dean grumbled, upset at the way that talking sort of prevented them from carrying out other select activities with their mouths.

"Do you think the Impala is done yet?"

"Yeah, I think it was finished around eleven or so," Dean said, blinking as water cascaded over his eyelashes.

"Let's go," Cas said, about to dart forward, when he doubled back to press a quick, close-mouthed kiss to Dean's lips. The hunter ran his tongue along his lower lip, tasting the sweet rainwater, before allowing himself to be dragged _muy rapido_ across the pavement.

Yeah, ice cream was a good thing, Dean noted.

* * *

**Okay I am pretty much a hundred percent sure that some of the words used in this chapter I made up because my insomnia-addled brain commanded it.**

**Also, I currently think that those ice cream flavor titles are pretty creative, but I'm operatin' on like two or three hours of sleep right now. It takes teo to mango. Heh heh heh.**

**OH AND GO CHECK OUT MY AO3 ACCOUNT BECAUSE I PUBLISHED A BUNCH OF TOTALLY PORNY ONE SHOTS THERE AND I WROTE A FIC FOR TEEN WOLF WHICH I AM LIKE REALLY IN TO RIGHT NOW BUT I HAVE FINISHED ALL OF THE AVAILABLE ONES AND ASDFGHJKL; so yeah I'm 2spooky4u**

**P. S. ****_Welcome To Night Vale _****is supremely awesome. Carlos and Cecil five evah.**

**Peace out y'all**


	46. Pleasantries

**HAAAY GUYZZZZ GUESS WHAT IT'S TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE A DOCTORS APPOINTMENT AT EIGhT #YOLO**

**I didn't proofread this even a bit and I work unbetaed so please cough and look the other way at any fallacies in this chapter**

**YOU WILL REALLY LIKE THE LAST PART TRUST ME**

* * *

By the time they made it back to the shop and the Impala, they were both thoroughly soaked. Their shirts were plastered to their bodies, their ties plastered to their shirts. The bored-looking auto mechanic handed Dean back his keys, and they were on their way.

Dean paused, hesitant, as they neared his baby.

"We are wet," he explained, responding to Cas's patented head tilt of confusion.

"The precipitation-"

"Okay, okay, Bill Nye. I just don't want to get water all over my baby," he said.

Cas's jaw flexed.

"Cas, are you...jealous?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No," Cas said.

"You are so, totally jealous. Of a car," Dean said.

"I have no such emotion." Cas concentrated on squeezing residual rain water from his button down.

"Cas, you know that I call her baby as in... I don't know. Imagine some old-timey dude and his relationship with his, horse, or something, I don't know. From, like, the Old West days, like a cowboy. Or, like a knight of a round table. Lancelot."

"Lancelot was schizophrenic," Cas said randomly after a moment.

"O...kay?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That, uh... sucks? For Lancelot?"

"Merlin, you know the witch?"

"Dude, he was real? Are all those guys real?"

"'All those guys' as in what?"

"As in Arthur. Guinevere. Mordred, Morgana, Merlin, Lancelot, et cetera."

"Most of them. They were actually quite dull. Most of the drama highlighted in the Arthurian mythologies is fictionalized to increase story appeal. Metatron would have approved," he said bitterly.

"Aw, don't tell me that stuff!" Dean said. "I totally loved Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table."

"Then you should know the truth," Cas said, smirking. "Arthur was dim-witted and inbred, but he was indeed quite brave. Lancelot, as I mentioned, suffered from severe delusions. His own personal accounts of his life, recounted orally, greatly influenced the legends, however peculiar his psychosis. Morgana was a homosexual, though she went to great lengths to hide it. She was in love with Guinevere, and it caused her much grief to see her and Arthur get married."

"Whoah, that sounds like a soap opera," Dean said. He had read a ton about the Arthur legends, secretly hoping to one day come across something related.

"Are we getting in the car?" Cas asked pointedly.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Dean unlocked the doors, sliding in and wincing at the squeaks the leather upholstery made with his wet clothing. Cas joined him, and ran his fingers along the newly replaced glass.

"Also, the last name was pronounced 'pin dragon'," he said. Dean scowled at him.

"Enough from you, before you go spouting off about the Little Mermaid or some shit."

"I don't understand what a petite sea dweller has to do with medieval England," Cas remarked as Dean began driving. The rain was letting up, and Dean turned slowly onto the main street. His hair dripped water down his face.

"No, the Little Mermaid, it's a classic fairy tale," Dean explained. "For someone who knows so much, you sure are oblivious," he chided gently.

Cas grunted at the challenging tone in Dean's voice. "I never required a need for familiarity with children's stories," he defended.

"Not judgin', just sayin'," Dean said.

"I shall read these 'fairy stories' you talk about. Perhaps they will lend me some knowledge about basic human morals and cultural appropriations."

"Sure, man. I bet they are all over the internet. I'll ask Charlie to set you up, if you want."

"I'll ask her," Cas responded. "I want to inquire on the progress of her novel."

"Charlie's writing a novel?"

"Yes, she plans to publish it online."

"Wow. Good for her," Dean said.

"Yes," Cas agreed. They drove in companionable silence, Cas checking out the sights along the main street as the rain let up. A man walked his dog, the little black toy poodle stopping to sniff at the table legs of a cheery little sidewalk cafe.

"Hey, look, man, an Italian bistro," Dean said, gesturing at the sidewalk cafe where the dog was investigating the scents.

"l'Uccello Nero," Cas said his pronunciation perfect.

"We should go there sometime. Grab dinner."

"A date?" Cas inquired. He was looking at Dean now, observing the way his fingers drummed impatiently at the steering wheel during the red light. The man with the black toy poodle crossed at the crosswalk, the little creature barking madly at the Impala.

"If you'd like," Dean said, a smile stretching languidly across his handsome features.

"I'd love that," Cas said sincerely. Dean glanced at him, grin widening, as the light changed to green. The man urged his dog along, but it was still yapping furiously in their direction. Cas glared at it.

"Me too," Dean said.

"Why are you smiling?" Cas wondered. He hadn't said anything funny, had he? Maybe another obscure reference to popular culture or something that he had unknowingly misquoted?

"Nothing. It's just...Well, it's pretty freakin' awesome to do the whole dating thing. Makes me feel like a normal guy, a little bit."

"You've been on dates before," Cas said, puzzled.

"Yeah, but no meaningful ones," Dean said, a little taken aback by the gravitas and forcefulness of his own words.

"Thank you for sharing the significant ones with me," Cas said softly. "I think Emmanuel went on dates a couple of times, although they were dull and colorless in comparison."

"Oh, yeah, that Daphne chick. Whatever happened to her?"

"I do not know," Cas admitted quietly. Another life he had messed up irreparably.

"So, how long did Emmanuel live with Daphne?" Dean asked, faking a casual tone. Truthfully, he was feeling jealous and possessive.

"Several months. It was a...strange experience. It felt stale. We married because the community surrounding the Allen couple thought it improper for two adults to live together as we did, so we wore rings and told anyone who asked that we were married."

"So you two, you know, never...did anything?"

"If by the word 'anything' you are alluding to sexual relations, you can be assured that nothing of the type ever occurred between the two of us. I slept in a different bed than her."

"Good," Dean said firmly. Wow, who would have thought Dean Winchester would turn out to be so possessive?

Cas looked at him, the corner of his mouth moving upwards.

"Dean Winchester, are you jealous of Daphne Allen?"

"Shut up, you," Dean said, sending him a mock glare. Cas laughed, and before long Dean was chuckling too.

* * *

"Hey, Kevin," Dean said in greeting to the young prophet, who was sprawled out on the couch paging through Netflix's selection of Star Trek: Voyager episodes. Dean was glad he was doing some normal teenager stuff. Nerdy, yes, but lounging on the couch until the afternoon on Sundays was a simple indulgence that no teen's life should be without.

"'Sup," Kevin said, eyes not leaving the screen.

"Is that Star Trek?" Cas asked excitedly, reading the episode descriptions eagerly.

"Yeah, 's Voyager," Kevin said.

"Can I watch?" Cas asked eagerly. Kevin looked up, a little startled at the fallen man's fervent request.

"Of course, dude, go ahead," he said after a moment, and Cas wandered over to an armchair, folding himself up neatly.

"I love Voyager," Dean said. "But I have to go do something. Where is everybody?"

"Sam went to Marin's place, Charlie introduced Crowley to Netflix, I think he's watching Game of Thrones-"

"He had better not be getting any funny ideas," Dean growled. Kevin chuckled.

"Nah, he just likes the dragons and the Stark family," he reassured him. "And Charlie's typing furiously in the library."

"Okay, cool," Dean said. "I will leave you two nerds to it, then. Enjoy," he finished, ruffling Cas's hair over the back of the chair. Cas blinked at him before returning his gaze to the screen.

"Do you want to start at the beginning?" Kevin was asking him as he left.

It was research time.

* * *

Sitting on his bed, the door locked, Dean opened up the laptop, taking deep breaths as the log in screen manifested. He clicked on the icon for user 'Sexy Son Of A Bitch', smiling absently at the name. Sam's user name on this computer was 'Mopey Dick'. He was proud of his work.

After typing in the password, he settled against the head of the bed, crossing his legs and adjusting the screen of the laptop.

He pulled up Firefox (Sam and Charlie each insisted on the particular web browser for some reason) and typed in the URL for Google.

The multi-colored letters stared out at him, daring him to type in its little box of magic web inquiry.

Dean swallowed.

'gay', he typed in, and was a little taken aback by the suggestions. Gay marriage. Gay jokes. Gay rights. Gay straight association. Gay celebrities. Gay bars. Yikes. These people sure had their priorities.

Then, the magic words, the ones that made Dean's heart speed up in a not altogether comfy way: Gay sex and Gay porn.

Hey, a dude has got to learn somehow, right? It wasn't like he could just call up Sam on speed dial and say, 'Sam, hey bro, I need directions on how to sleep with the love of my life because he does not have a vagina'.

Taking a deep breath, he clicked on 'Gay sex' and watched the website gather its query.

There were a few pages that were for health education, offering guidelines on how to broach the subject to teenagers. Nope.

A blog entry on 'Brokeback Mountain'. Nope.

A preachey religious site that claimed it a sin. Dean chuckled. Nope.

Finally, he gave up after seeing a link to a fan fiction website (never doing that again, no way in Hell) and switched to the YouTube tab on Google.

Whoah. Jackpot.

Apparently people posted gay porn to YouTube. And quite a large amount, no less. Dean soldiered on, no stranger to attractive guys on video fucking- but it was, up until that day, fucking a girl. He scrolled down the search results, turning red at some of the...graphic thumbnails, one of which included a muscly tattooed guy strapped to a bed with a leather harness, collar, and cords. Way too much information there. Why didn't any of these guys seem to be partaking in simple, good old gay sex? He didn't want corsets or lace panties or riding crops or handcuffs...

Finally, he came across a relatively non-threatening video whose thumbnails featured inoffensively attractive porn stars, one on his back, the other on top of him, kissing. Okay, he could do that.

He clicked on the video, then the Full Screen button, and placed the laptop in front of him, far enough away that he wouldn't be able to snap the computer shut with no effort.

Deep breaths, Dean. It's just sex.

The little grey dancing dots disappeared, and a title danced across the viewer.

"Drew and Mike, February 2008", it said. Then, it transitioned to a couple of guys, fully clothed, standing up, kissing softly at the edge of the huge mattress. One guy was taller than the other, his blond hair short and neat. He was dressed in a tailored suit, Dean noticed, as was the other guy, a well-built young man with honey-brown hair. The taller one was wearing grey, his shorter counterpart clad in a deep blue.

Tall Dude wrapped his arms gently around Blue Suit as the kiss deepened, earning a soft moan for his efforts. Dean hastily muted the volume. He didn't need to hear their activities, he only needed to see them. Besides, what would happen if one of the bunker's co-inhabitants happened to walk by and hear that? It would be downright mortifying.

Blue Suit shrugged off his navy blazer, letting it fall to the floor. Dean wondered briefly if Cas would look hot in a suit, would think Dean looked hot in a suit. He made a note to try it out.

Tall Dude brought his hands around to the front of Blue Suit's white dress shirt, moving up to work at his tie. Dean blinked, wondering if anyone actually enjoyed watching two guys defrock one another so painstakingly slow. It wasn't doing much for Dean, and his mind toyed with the image of a well-tailored suit, how it would look on Castiel. He would probably end up looking like he had walked out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. His hair would be artfully tousled, and he would look out at Dean, blue gaze lustful and haughty. He would use one hand to loosen his tie, maintaining eye contact the whole time, his pretty blue eyes beckoning from underneath his full, girlish eyebrows. The suit would have French cuffs, Dean decided. He would be wearing imported Italian leather Oxfords, simple, neat and classic.

Once again, he pondered over his attraction towards Cas. It shouldn't exist, but it did, and strong.

Onscreen, Tall Dude and Blue Suit were both now shirtless, Tall Dude's tie remaining loosely around his neck. He pulled away for a moment, gasping for air. Dean chewed a fingernail, kind of bored at the PG-13 level interactions. Blue Suit frowned and grasped Tall Dude's tie, forcing him back in to the kiss.

Okay, that got a response from the audience. Dean closed his eyes, imagining what noises Cas might make if Dean did that to him. His cock awakened, and he opened his eyes.

Blue Suit was in his boxers now, perched on the edge of the bed, hands grabbing frantically at Tall Dude's perfectly tailored grey trousers as he cowered over him. He forced his pants off, shoving Blue Suit back on to the bed. Blue Suit gazed at him, hazel eyes blown wide with lust, as he palmed himself through his boxers.

Dean swallowed, nervousness flooding through him, his boner receding. What if he messed up? What if he did something Cas didn't like? What if Cas's hormones didn't respond because he was stiffly heterosexual? What if he hurt him?

Tall Guy shimmied provocatively out of his boxers, leaning down to press his open mouth to Blue Suit's erection through the cloth. The shorter man threw his head back, lips parting in what was sure to have been a thoroughly embarrassing moan. Tall Guy smirked, re-positioning himself to embrace his eager lover, rolling them over once, twice, until they were at the middle of the bed and Blue Suit was underneath him once more, rocking his hips upwards. They kissed, hands roaming and tongues colliding.

What if he misread the situation wrong and came on too strong and Cas didn't react well? What if he got frightened and pushed Dean away? What if they both wanted to top or something and their movements got all awkward? What if Dean didn't do something correctly and Cas got hurt?

Blue Suit was completely naked when he focused his attention back on the screen. Two massive, shaved dicks slid and rutted against each other, red and swollen and heavy. Dean felt nauseous. He slammed the laptop shut when Tall Guy began to spread Blue Suit's legs.

He was freaking out.

It felt so ridiculously wrong, watching these two strangers pleasure each other. He felt disgusting, like some sort of creepy voyeur. He wasn't aroused in the least, and his breaths were coming short and shallow. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. No matter how much he loved Cas, he was too scared.

_I can't, I can't I can't, _he thought, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his body. He rested his forehead on his knees, mind racing.

_I can't do this. I'm not used to this, to getting turned on by a guy. I am straight. I was straight. Cas has a dick. I have a dick. We both have dicks. I'm scared. I can't let Cas's first time be terrible, but I have absolutely no clue how to make him feel good. I'm used to boobs and long hair, not muscle and dick and all that shit. But, god, I want him so fucking bad._

Dean twisted his hands through his hair.

_He turns you on, but you are too fucking scared to act on it. Fucking wimp. You should just drag his ass to another whorehouse, hire him a guy instead of a girl. Maybe that's what went wrong all those years ago; you just go and blatantly ignore any chances that he is gay. And now you have got to show him the ropes, when you can't even think of his body and yours without panicking._

Dean slowed his breathing, thinking about happy things: ice cream, snow men, birds, lemonade, a soft, gentle breeze, Cas, in a tailored suit-

Then, it hit him. He would never get to act out his little fantasy of Brooks Brothers model-looking Cas if he didn't man up and get over himself. He would never get to find out what made Cas moan, what made him beg, what things make him growl out Dean's name. He would be stuck in this true love Disney princess movie relationship without ever introducing Cas to the pleasures of the flesh.

Castiel responded so enthusiastically over a simple ice cream cone, and Dean's mouth watered at the reactions he'd have to, say, Dean stroking him gently as he kissed him, whispering quiet, secret praises in the fallen angel's ear.

Okay, this was helping. He set the laptop on the night stand and crawled under the covers, his mind weaving together image after glorious image of Cas and him together in bed. He imagined Cas following him under the covers, naked for some reason, maybe he had just showered. Yes, that was good. He'd be all relaxed and clean and warm, not to mention deliciously wet. Dean would pull him closer, arms wrapped around Castiel's waist, and they would kiss, slow and deep and passionate.

His hand reached down to free himself from his dry flannel pajama pants and plaid boxers, unrealistically horny. He began to gently stroke himself, imagining how fucking good it would be to have Cas there with him.

Cas would moan softly, and Dean would use that opportunity to slip his tongue between his lips. He would sigh contendedly into the kiss, arms pressing their chests together. Dean would roll them over so that he was positioned over Cas, and he'd begin to grind against the hunter's thigh, panting for breath and wordlessly begging for more. Dean would bite his neck like he knew the blue-eyed man loved, and Cas would pull at his boxers, whining at how unfair it was that Dean was still covered. He would lick and suck on his chest as the boxers were discarded, and their lips would collide hungrily as they finally could feel each other, totally bare, canting their hips up and down for friction.

Real Life Dean moaned quietly, stroking himself with his mind full of Cas's scent, the feel of his skin, the freckle by his left nipple, the way his insides melted when he noticed the blue gaze planted longingly on him, the way they kissed, out of breath and dizzy for more.

"Dean, please," Cas would beg softly. He'd be so gorgeous, laying below Dean, panting and sweaty and eager. His blue eyes would be flooded with lust, his mouth open slightly as he continued to seek the pleasure of skin on skin. He'd instinctively move one hand from Dean's hip to brush up against their urgent, needy erections.

"Cas, god," Dean moaned quietly, rolling his hips into his hands.

Cas would stroke them together, tentatively at first, still overwhelmed by the new sensations, and then he would speed up, responding to Dean's moans with his own. Dean would shift his weight, straddle Cas. Cas would wrap his legs tightly around his back, forcing him closer. He'd whine against Dean's chest.

"Dean," he'd say, lips red and swollen from relentless contact. His hair would be absolutely wrecked, ruffled by Dean's roaming hands. "I need-" Cas would break off with a strangled cry as Dean rotated his hips so that Cas's dick dragged across his stomach.

"What do you need, Cas, tell me," he would breathe softly into Cas's ear. "I've got you, baby, just tell me," he would encourage. Cas would throw his head back, exposing his neck again for Dean to mark, sucking and biting, so beautiful, so submissive and trusting.

"Please," Cas would repeat, his eyes fluttering closed as Dean was sucking at the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder.

"Take care of you, Cas," he would whisper, moving back up so that their lips were together again.

"Dean," Cas would whimper, voice deep and rumbling, like he'd swallowed someone's gravel driveway.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart," he'd encourage. Cas would be so pretty like that, flushed and lustful and at a loss for words.

"Want you to- need you to-" he'd mutter, losing his train of thought as Dean latched on to his chest, sucking at the perfect skin.

"Anything, Cas," he'd say, waiting to hear the affirmation from those perfect lips.

"Fuck me, Dean," he would plead, and the profanity would sound so deliciously dirty coming from the former angel. Dean would smile into their kiss, and then he would gently open Cas's legs.

"So pretty, Cas," he'd praise softly. "So good for me." Cas would whimper, totally lost as he lost control of himself in the tide of pleasure and longing.

Dean would break the kiss to grab the bottle of lube under his pillow, dick throbbing insistently as Cas keened at the loss of contact.

"Mmmm, Dean, please," he would beg, voice desperate.

"Perfect, Cas. You're fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful, all wrecked and needy, waiting for me to take care of you." Cas would wrap his arms around Dean's back, tired of waiting. "All mine," he'd say, treating Cas like he was the most precious thing in the world. Because he was.

"Yours," Cas would exhale quietly. "Yours, Dean."

Dean would spread some lube on his fingers, drinking in the sight of Cas, his Cas, strung out and debauched beneath him. He'd slowly stroke the skin around Cas's entrance, making sure his beloved was okay with what he was about to do.

Then, meeting no resistance, but spurred on by Cas's breathy moans, he would gently slide a finger in. Cas would arch his back, gasping at the sensation. Dean would murmur loving words to him, promises to take care of him and statements about how perfect he was. Cas would move his hips, urging Dean farther inside, tentative thrusts punctuated by low groaning.

"More, Dean," he would beg, shuddering at the strange but good sensation.

"So gorgeous, Cas," Dean would babble as he removed his finger, lapping up Cas's protests at the loss of contact. Then, he'd gently urge two fingers in, closing his eyes at the moan that would be drawn from him.

"You like that?" Dean would ask softly. Cas would move his hips in response.

"Mmmhh," he'd moan.

"So perfect," Dean would repeat as he began to move his fingers, massaging the tight muscle and opening him, preparing him for Dean's cock. He would stroke him, and then he'd lightly press the pad of a finger against a certain area that would have Cas cry out and tremble in pleasure.

"Right there, Dean," he'd moan.

"Almost ready, Cas," he'd soothe. He would add another finger, light yet thorough, and Cas would relax into his touch, sighing and melting every time Dean neared that spot.

"Please, Dean," he'd get out finally. "I need you," he'd pant. "More, please."

And Dean would remove his fingers (as he did with his own hole, dimly registering the fact that he had begun to finger himself as well as stroke) and align the tip of his cock with Cas's tight hole. He would spread the remaining lube over himself with a few quick strokes.

"Ready?" Dean would ask softly, and then he would be met with an eager sigh.

Then, finally, after so many years of repressed affection and quiet love, he'd be enveloped in his beloved's tight, wet heat. He'd press in slowly, letting Cas adjust and relax around him.

"So good," he'd soothe, hands supporting Cas's trembling thighs.

He would ease his way in, stroking his thumbs across Cas's skin soothingly. At last, he'd be in all the way, and Cas would breathe hard, adjusting to the feeling of being so full.

"You okay, baby?" Dean would ask, unwilling to hurt his soul mate. Cas would bite one pink, chapped lip and nod, gazing up at Dean with an expression full of love, adoration, and trust.

"Move, please," he'd grunt, and then his eyes would flutter close as Dean snapped his hips back and forth, small movements at first, letting Cas get used to it. He'd speed up after a little bit, entire body fueling his thrusts. Cas would begin to hum at the sensation.

"You feel amazing, Cas," Dean would say, his body aching for more, more, more.

"Dean," Cas would moan, voice low and rough. "Dean, Dean," he'd repeat. Dean would move his arms around Cas's back, and he would in turn latch his legs around Dean's waist. They would work up a fast, efficient rythm, Dean fucking him softly until Cas began thrusting his hips eagerly, crying out brokenly as Dean adjusted their angle, finding his sweet spot and hitting in straight on with every thrust.

"Castiel," Dean would grunt, loving the application of such a pure name to the wrecked mess below him.

"Something's- Dean- something's happening," Cas would gasp, in shock, as Dean's thrusts began to grow desperate and fast.

"Let go, baby, I got you," he'd say. "Come for me, angel."

And Cas would arch his back, screaming Dean's name, his face echoing the immense pleasure of his first orgasm, and his body would ripple. He'd clench around Dean, and the sensation would make the hunter come so hard he saw stars. They'd ride out their orgasms together, Dean thrusting lazily as he spilled inside of Cas. Finally, the pleasure would ebb away from a tidal wave to an insistent hum. He would pull out of Cas, panting, and roll over, flopping down on his back to lay beside Cas as they slowly resurfaced, chests heaving, covered in Cas's come.

"I love you, Cas, so fucking much," he'd say eventually, and Cas would cuddle up to him, breaths evening out.

"Love Dean," he'd murmur, still too lost to say much more. They'd fall asleep together, not caring about the mess. They could always shower together when they woke up the next morning.

* * *

After cleaning his hand and his body off with some tissues, Dean tossed the now-dirty underwear and pajama pants into the corner where he and Cas deposited dirty laundry. He stretched, totally relaxed, and pulled on a new pair, a pair that Cas was fond of borrowing. He put on Cas's pajama pants as well and grabbed his robe, tying it around his waist before walking back down the hall.

The TV was still on. Apparently, they were watching the episodes all out of order, because Seven of Nine didn't show up until the fifth season or so, and there she was, playing that holographic, 3D tennis game with Captain Janeway. Kevin had nodded off, and was snoring quietly. Dean walked up to the back of Cas's armchair, where he sat, enraptured.

Cas jumped a bit when Dean leaned down and wrapped his arms around Cas.

"Hi," he said, averting his gaze to look fondly up at Dean.

"Hey," Dean said, knowing his smile was probably confusing Cas. He tilted his head downwards, giving Cas a Spider-Man kiss before pulling back with a contented sigh.

He could so totally do this.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing the top of Cas's head softly.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas said, a little confused at the randomness of the statement.

"Want some lunch?"

"Do we still have hamburger meat?" Cas asked eagerly, making puppy dog eyes without even realizing it. Dean smiled fondly.

"Yeah. Want to come help?"

"Only if you tell me why you're smiling."

"No. It's a secret," Dean confided quietly, taking Cas's hand.

"You confuse me sometimes," Cas said, resigned.

"Mmmm," Dean mumbled as they made their way to the kitchen. The TV kept playing, waiting for Kevin to wake up, and then they would all eat a late lunch together.

Castiel was doing so much better lately, and if the looks he was giving Dean when he thought nobody noticed were anything to go by, Dean might have to apply his practice sooner than he had thought.

* * *

**Okay so I might have written Dean completely ridiculously outrageously unforgivably ludicrously irrevocably unbearably exorbitantly stupendously out of character but I have this sweet little fuzzy headcanon where he's basically been starved for touch for most of his life and finding someone he loves would make him experience all sorts of new things and after losing so many people he would be constantly looking for ways to show them that they were loved and stuff and Cas and Dean are both so lonely and tired and now they have each other and they can nest and find solace for a while they're going to take that opportunity god damn it**

**So yeah if you hate it then you can suck my hypothetical dick also probably stop reading either works but i mean everyone loves blow jobs help a brotha out**

**(I'm female, for the record)**


	47. Processed Meat Is A Problem

**?As if your lives needed more mystery and confusion?**

**Idk man idk I'm just really fucking tired of the hellatus and shit**

**OH OH OH HAPPY AUTUMN PEEPOL**

**mey your seasonal Starbucks lattes be laced with crack cocaine and may the leaves not injure you by falling on your head**

* * *

"This substance has a strange texture," Cas observed. He was wrist-deep in a bowl of ground beef and various other things Dean had added.

"Yeah, that's meat for ya," Dean said, drying his hands on a fluffy white kitchen towel. He watched Cas squish the meat for a while, before coming up behind him and quietly snaking his arms around his waist.

"Hi," Cas said, relaxing into the embrace. Dean rested his chin on Cas's shoulder, content to just chill out and watch. Cas was mixing the same area again and again, neglecting other places.

"Here, you got to mix all of it in," Dean instructed, taking Cas's hands in his own and delving into the pink meat. He motioned the 'proper' way to do it.

"You were distracting me," Cas pouted. His whole body was pressed up against Dean, and the hunter had to admit that it would be very distracting. Cas shifted his weight, causing his ass to brush across Dean's hips. _He probably doesn't even realize he does that shit_, Dean thought.

"Sorry," he said, not sorry at all.

"I'm sure you are," Cas dead-panned. "I can practically taste the remorse hanging in the air."

Dean smiled, kissing Cas's cheek gently before withdrawing his hands to wash them once more.

"Dean, are there- are there supposed to be feathers in this?" Cas asked, keeping voice steady, but alarm leaked through his words nonetheless. Dean turned around.

"What?"

"A feather. In the raw hamburger," Cas repeated.

"Maybe we got chicken 'stead of beef," Dean joked.

"It's a black feather. Shiny," Cas stated.

"Show me," Dean demanded, standing next to Cas. He folded his arms across his chest.

"I took it out. It's on the counter top, right..." Cas edged the bowl over. "_It was right here_," he said, panic rising in his voice.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Dean soothed, taking Cas's face gently in his hands and urging his gaze towards Dean.

"I saw it, Dean," Cas said, struggling frantically.

"I believe you, sweetheart," he assured him. "I'll always believe you."

Cas gave up trying to wriggle his way out of Dean's grip. He sagged against his chest.

"It probably just blew away," Dean murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Don't worry." He closed his eyes, chest constricting with worry. He didn't care about the damn feather, he cared about Cas reacting so caustically to such a small thing.

"Sorry," Cas mumbled into his shirt, still not hugging back.

"The meat probably got something in it during processing," Dean reassured him. "We'll toss it out, order Chinese food or something."

"Won't the delivery man or woman become bewildered by a door in the ground with a couple of cars parked out front of it?" Cas pointed out gently.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Maybe we should build a little cabin on top, just for appearances," he joked, relinquishing Cas from his arms. "Wash your hands, I'll look around to see what else there is."

Cas complied, all the while staring thoughtfully into space.

"Would it have windows?"

Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

"Would what have windows?" He scooped the meat into the garbage can, which somebody had emptied recently.

"The cabin," Cas said, in his '_duh, Dean_' voice.

"What- oh. I was just-" Dean put the bowl in the sink, filling it with water and soap. Then, he caught a glance at Cas's face. The fallen angel's eyes were gazing at something only he could see, expression soft and longing. _Crap, he really likes that whole cabin thing_, Dean thought.

"It was an idea. We could do pretty much anything we wanted," Dean answered, being careful not to make any definite promises.

"Okay," Cas said, shrugging. He shook out his hands, droplets of water flying everywhere. One hit Dean in the eye, and he scowled at Cas's amusement.

"So," he said finally, clearing his throat. "What else should we have for lunch?"

* * *

**not to worry not to worry my pretties I have like seven thousand words or something silly like that for next chapter i just need to comb through it because IT'S REALLY UNEXPECTED I DON'T KNOW IT JUST WROTE ITSELF AND I NEED TO READ OVER IT AGAIN WHEN I'M NOT RUNNING ON FUMES BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW?!**

**i love you guys, you're awesome, I would hate my sporadic updates if I was in your shoes**

**Also probably I would not fit comfortably in your shoes I have size eleven and a half feet because Russian blood or something? also my feet smell**

**See y'all beyotche$ tomorrooooooooooooow**

**actually it's kinda late it might be tomorrow already but whatevs**


	48. Cold Feet, Cold Bodies, Just Very Cold

**okie dokie here comes the general 'what the actual fuck just happened' ness sorry not sorry okay I'm a little sorry but hashtag yolo**

**Honestly, I really don't know where all of this came from, it just kind of unraveled, and it's probably going to be confusing and totally out of the blue but it's the twenty second so like sixteen days till season gr9 starts yay**

* * *

"Hey, Charlie," Dean greeted as the pretty redhead wandered into the kitchen.

"Saw Cas," she remarked casually, leaning against the counter. "He looked troubled."

Dean turned to face her, attention won.

"What do you mean?" Cas had seemed fine when he left the kitchen, after Dean refused to let him help do the dishes.

"He seemed...sad, almost," Charlie said. "Like he was disappointed in himself."

"For someone who spends so much time online, you sure are quick to read people," Dean quipped without thinking, then shut his mouth after he realized that maybe he had just said something a teeny bit mean.

"Don't sweat it, dude," she said, waving her hand at Dean's guilty face. "He's an open book. A blind guy could read him."

"I guess so," Dean mumbled. "He was fine when he was in here," he continued, puzzled.

"Is everything okay?" Charlie asked quietly.

"Yeah, everything's- everything is fine. At least, I thought it was. He's making so much progress, I thought..." Dean trailed off, taking a seat at the table. Charlie sat next to him.

"Neither of you two are...coercing the other into something he doesn't want, right?" Charlie asked after a beat.

"What do you mean?" Dean looked at her quizzically.

"I mean..." Charlie chewed her lip, looking for words. "I mean, you're not pushing him into something he's not ready for, are you?"

"Uh, no," Dean said. "I mean, I gave him way more ice cream this morning than I probably should have, those waffle cones are enormous-"

"I mean sex," Charlie said bluntly, cutting him off.

"What?" Dean stared at her, dumbfounded. "I would never-"

"I know you would never do anything to hurt him on purpose," Charlie said, as both parties tried desperately to _not_ think of recent situations where he had done exactly that.

"I don't..." Dean bit a thumbnail.

"It's not the other way around, is it?" Charlie babbled. "Because I know it can be really overwhelming to be a virgin- relatively speaking, of course- with someone else who is comfortable, eager for the experience, when you're not wholly ready. I mean, Cas probably has no idea how you're feeling-"

"Charlie, Charlie, calm down a sec," Dean cut in. "I'm not pushing him, at least, I don't think I'm pushing him. He's not pushing me either," he said.

"Does Cas know that?" Charlie asked, not accusing, but concerned.

"Yes. No. I don't know," he admitted.

"So you two still haven't...done anything?"

"No, Charlie, we haven't had- we haven't slept together."

"I know you haven't slept together slept together, I was just making sure you haven't, like, done other things."

"Other...things?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Hands, mouth, et cetera," Charlie responded with a roll of her eyes.

"Et cetera?" Dean asked incredulously, eyebrows way up his forehead.

"I don't know," Charlie said, exasperated. "Tentacles?"

Dean squinted at her.

"Oh my god, neither of you have tentacles, right?" Charlie said, flustered. Dean nearly choked on the laughter that burst forth.

"Shut up, Charlie, neither of us have tentacles. What kind of porn are you watching?" Charlie glared at him.

"You can shut up, mister girl-on-girl-on-girl hentai," Charlie said menacingly.

"How- what the fuck," Dean said, blanching.

"I'm the almighty wizard of the internet," she replied.

"If- if- if you tell- if you tell anyone, ever, I- I'll skin you alive," Dean stuttered.

Charlie sighed. "When I got here, Kevin hauled out and attacked Crowley, remember?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, nodding.

"You guys explained to me the situation, and I was afraid that he might act up, so I took it upon myself to monitor him as best as I could. I have cameras in the library, and I rigged a program to trigger an alert on my phone whenever a query is made over the internet, so I'd get notice if he was researching things other than spoilers for _Game of Thrones_."

"Oh, fuck..." Dean said, suddenly feeling very afraid of where this might be going.

"Bottom line being: I saw your little research escapade, coming from your room, and I knew it was either you or Cas, and then I saw him acting...broody."

"Oh. Oh, god, it's not-" Dean felt his cheeks turning a violent red, and buried his face in his hands.

"You're nervous," Charlie teased mildly. "Dean's scared of se-ex. Dean's scared of se-ex. Dean's scared of se-"

"Shut it, Charlie, 'fore I stab you."

Charlie put a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"He loves you, Dean, whatever happens. Don't stress, just do what feels natural."

"Are we really having a heart to heart about _gay sex_?" Dean asked grumpily.

"We are. Because it's going to be a problem if you keep avoiding it. So wait till he says he wants it, then figure it out together."

Dean was saved from scrambling for a response- _really, what the hell are you supposed to say to respond to that?!_- by a twittering noise coming from Charlie's phone.

"See? Look, more Crowley," she said, showing Dean the notification on the screen.

_Does Arya Stark die in season two? Area of origin: Crowley's room, 16:39_

Dean chuckled. "You weren't kidding."

"No, no I wasn't. He is very, very attached to young Arya," she said, cringing as the phone beeped twice.

"So, uh, no more googling porn," Dean said.

"Not if you don't want me to find out, no. But you don't need it, you've got Cas. I mean, seriously, I'd be all over him if he had boobs." She laughed, before looking scared. "Calm down, Dean, I'm not in your territory."

"I'm not- what are you-"

"Dude, you really have no idea how possessive you are, do you?" Charlie flat out giggled at that.

"I am not _possessive_-"

"You are so totally, ridiculously possessive, despite the fact that Cas would never let anyone but you into his heart or whatever. Also, you need to get laid, like, so bad. I mean, when did you last actually have sex?"

Dean paused, frowning in thought.

"With another person?" Charlie clarified.

"I don't know?" Dean asked.

"Go and get your man, man," Charlie urged. Work it out, and don't be too loud, 'cause I know as soon as you two finally ravish each other you'll be fucking each other's brains out nonstop. Like, for months. You guys have enough pent up sexual tension to power the world for at least a few millennia."

"Cha-arlie," he groaned.

"No, I'm serious, you two have to be, like, self-control gods to not have gone horizontal ages ago. I mean, all those stares. No wonder Sam's been complaining for years."

"We don't- wait, what?"

"When we were after Dick Roman- ages ago- Sam made some passing comment when we were talking about being gay, well, in his case, bisexual-"

"He told you?!" Dean grunted.

"Nah, I guessed, spectacular gay-dar and all of that. Anyway, I might have implied that he was not fully straight, and he didn't deny it, and then he was talking about how you weren't always that abrasive you just missed your feather-bottomed friend, and I said jokingly something like, 'ooh, a love interest', and he said 'you don't know the half of it' and 'they're like a hair's breadth away from just tearing each other's pants off' and 'they stare at each other for ages, it's irritating as hell' and I sort of poked at it because I knew I had sensed a quivering rainbow flag behind your overcompensatingly masculine manly manly macho manly man persona-" Charlie rambled endlessly.

"I do not _overcompensate_," Dean protested.

Charlie looked at him skeptically.

"Car, guns, plaid, beer, no feelings, dozens of girls? Sound like anyone you know?"

"First of all, I like those things, second of all, I really don't give a flying fuck what other people think of me, so I wouldn't need to 'overcompensate' for anything, except for a few hunters who have, ah, old-fashioned values, and I have to keep myself neutral so I can work with them if I need to, and whateverly, why the fuck would I have to compensate for this gay-ness thing if I didn't even fucking know? And how the hell did everybody know before I did?" Dean ranted, breathless.

"There's a really good article Psychology Today did about gay-dar, you should check it out, it's legit." Charlie nodded. "And I understand about those hunters, keeping oneself Switzerland, that's wise, you have got to pick your battles. Why did you even think about those battles if you thought you were straight, anyway?" Dean scowled. "You know what, I don't really want to know, nor do I really care, I'm just saying that it was a smart choice. Especially in your line of business."

"I guess," Dean grumbled.

"Also, I never thought you were overcompensating for other peoples' sakes, I think it's your hard-wired way of forcing yourself to believing that you're completely heterosexual, old habits dying hard. You've got a huge pile of tangled stuff, a big clusterfuck of insecurities and self-hatred and denial and daddy issues, and it's not like you were born in ninety seven and being gay or bisexual or anything in that whole alphabet stew of sexual identities is, by and large, okay. You've told me about your father, Dean, how you two were raised. I think, and I might be wrong, but I think you trampled down any and all potential for anything other than heterosexuality to grow, afraid of your father's judgment, and unable to accept yourself."

Dean's eyes stung. He looked at the floor, played with his hands.

"Dean," Charlie said, roping an arm around his shoulder comfortingly. "I think you're having trouble adjusting to this whole thing. I always kind of knew I was a little different, ever since a girl in my kindergarten asked me who I had a crush on and I told her Jordan, and she thought I was talking about Jordan M., who was a boy, and I was talking about Jordan F., who wore pink sundresses and kick-ass shades. But even I had trouble. But you just had the rug pulled out from under your feet, and that sucks balls."

"I..." Dean's voice broke. "I just can't tell him, 'cause he'll feel guilty, and it will hurt him."

"He understands you far more than you know," Charlie confided cryptically.

"What?" Dean regarded her, suddenly feeling completely worn out from this conversation.

"I mean, you need him as much as he needs you. He knows how alien and odd this is for you, how disconcerting to realize that your soul mate has a dick."

Dean sighed. Yeah, Charlie had hit the nail right on the head, and had done a bang-up job of it. Cas's male body was making him anxious.

"It's not that he's a guy, it's that he's a guy and I'm a guy and I'm not even freaked out about that, and now I'm freaking out that I'm not freaking out and I'm perfectly okay with another dude all of the sudden?" Dean ranted. "And I'm usually fine, and he's really, really hot, and it gets to me, and then something comes up, and then I freak out for no reason and I'm really, really bad at untangling these things, and he's just- I can't mess this up. I can't lose him, even if his attractiveness is freaking me the fuck out, and _I don't know what to do_!"

"Dean," Charlie comforted him. "It's okay, all of it. You aren't going to lose him, or make him run away, especially not because of something like this. Just take your time, and let him take his time, and try to accept yourself. Think of all the awesome people who aren't straight, and think about how much you don't hate them, and then imagine everyone who loves you, living or otherwise, and how much it really doesn't matter. And just think of the rewards," she finished, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. Dean grunted, but the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

"By 'all the awesome people who aren't straight' you mean you and Sam, right?"

"Yeah, although Sam doesn't really count, cause he's like 87% hetero, and he secretly just wants to have a bunch of biological children. But yeah, there's me, and I kick ass. And sleep with girls."

"Don't say that stuff, I'm incredibly aroused," Dean dead-panned, his voice monotone.

"What I don't get is why guys think girl-on-girl is so hot," Charlie mused. "I mean, I think it's hot, but then there are guys who don't support gay rights and watch gay girls get each other off when they're alone with their laptops, because, like, every guy looks it up at some point so..."

"Same reason a bunch of straight fangirls get off to terribly written online stories about me and Sam fucking each other."

"Wow, that's, uh, that's really awkward. I mean, they don't think you exist, but still. Did the Supernatural books ever get up to you and Cas? Or are those the internet ones?"

"I don't know. That's a bit of a traumatizing area for us. Where did that Chuck guy stop?"

"Well, I'm not in 'em, and I wasn't really looking for your guyses love interests, I was skimming through all squeamishly to get down the back story. But I think you told me the important parts yourself."

"Please tell me you skipped over the scenes where I have sex." Dean grunted.

"Duh, I mean, like, ew, straight sex. Unnatural."

Dean smirked at this. "You, like, heterophobic or something?"

"No, I mean, like, I'm fine with it, as long as girls and guys don't like, kiss in public, I mean, think of the children, it'll teach them that being straight is okay," Charlie said, mock-somberly.

"Yeah, how dare they," Dean said, rolling his eyes. They sat in a companionable silence for a while.

"Go talk to Cas," Charlie said eventually. She stood up, ruffling his hair affectionately. "And let him do the interrogating for once."

* * *

***hides in hobbit hole* Please don't kill me? I DID NOT MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN I SWEAAAAAAR**

**my typin' fingies are po ZESSED GUUUURL plz**


	49. Tables Turned, Bridges Burned

**bet u thought the porn was coming ah ha ha ha ha NOPE **

**u get some more almost-sex and then some angst and Mary Winchester feels lol ha ha ha**

* * *

Cas was curled up in their bed, a stack of books beside him, ranging from picture books to thick, annotated anthologies, with one thing in common: they all looked exceptionally old. Cas was so enraptured that he did not even notice Dean coming in. He looked so calm, nestled into the thick tangle of blankets, devouring the words on the page jumped slightly when he noticed Dean.

"Hello, Dean," he said, gazing distractedly up at the green-eyed hunter.

"Found some books, I see," Dean said, yawning and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yes," Cas said simply.

"And some blankets?"

"My body temperature was uncomfortably low, an effect of wearing in my wet clothes for so long. They sapped my body heat, and this bunker is not climate controlled."

"Maybe you should have changed into something dry before watching _Star Trek_ all afternoon."

"I watched three episodes, Dean, forty-two minutes each. I did not partake in television viewing for the entirety of the afternoon. You will note that it is still afternoon now."

"Dude, it's almost dinner time. Where did you find all of these extra blankets?"

"I transferred the remaining covers from my other bedroom and added them to our bed, and I got my bumblebee sheets from Target, and I brought in the ones that I had stored in the library for reading."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about the bee sheets." Sure enough, the simplistic pattern was swirled among the other, more neutral colored blankets.

Cas regarded him, expression blank, befor e he apparently decided that his book was more interesting. He turned back to it.

"What are you reading?" Dean asked. He flopped down on the bed, feeling strangely better after the unexpected talk with Charlie.

"I am reading stories."

"So? Isn't that like, every fiction book ever written? Which stories are you reading?" Dean pestered.

"Fairy tales. It's a first print of the Grimm brothers' compilation." Cas paused. "It is, as it were, very grim."

"Dude," Dean said, taken aback. "Did you just...did you just _make _a_ joke_?"

"I think so?" Cas squinted at him, as if he was not entirely sure whether he had indeed made some sort of joke and required Dean's expertise on the matter.

"You're..." Dean didn't know where he was going with that statement. Cas gave up after a few moments and returned to his book.

"Cas," Dean whispered, poking at him.

"What, Dean," Cas said, impatiently.

"Ca-a-as."

"What?"

"CCCCCC-aa-aaa-a-a-a-sssssssss-"

"Dean, what do you want?!" Cas closed his book and set it down curtly at the top of the pile, right over a Disney story book that Dean was pretty sure was published way after the Men of Letters stopped compiling. Why did they even have all of these not-lore books? Just how big was their library?

"You're not sharing the blankets."

"Isn't it a little early to be going to bed?" Cas asked, rolling his eyes.

"We are always staying up super late. And you're in bed, so," Dean grumbled. "And you're hogging the blankets. No one needs that many blankets."

"A person suffering from hypothermia would probably benefit greatly from copious amounts of bed clothes," Cas pointed out, slouching grumpily into his little nest.

"Well, I don't see anyone here getting hypothermia, so hand 'em over." Dean yanked on the blankets. Cas rolled over, effectively making it impossible to remove them, as his entire body was now swaddled in cloth, pinning the various sheets and comforters down.

"You interrupted my reading," Cas said in a pouting voice.

"You interrupted my... my quest? For blankets? Yes." Dean tugged harder.

"You're the reason I chose to read all of those particular books, in any case, Dean," Cas grunted.

"I never said when to read them," Dean rebuked.

"You never said when not to read them."

"I never said when not not to read them," Dean retorted. Cas huffed out a laugh, and Dean smiled too.

"Your sophomoric attempts at crafting an effective insult are- Hey!" Cas squirmed indignantly as Dean forced his hand into the mass of blankets and sought out a ticklish spot. Hell, he wasn't really sure where he was touching, it just figured that Cas would be ticklish all over his body.

"Yes? What about my insults?"

"_Terrible_," Cas said, in between gasps for air, his breathy laughter permeating the room. "You are- truly terrible."

"So...what does that tell me about your tastes?" Dean retorted, enjoying the sight of Cas wiggling in frantic attempts to escape. However, he had cocooned himself so effectively that any hopes of ending the vicious attack were useless.

"You're an ass-butt," Cas wheezed, wriggling. He was beginning to loosen the blankets with his constant movement.

"You love my ass." Dean was using both hands, not really needing to move all that much to get the reaction he desired.

"It's _terrible_," Cas huffed. His sides heaved; laughing against his will was unpleasant. Yet somehow, it made him feel liked. He hated it, but he also perversely enjoyed it. One of those strange, bizarre, illogical qualities of being human.

"My ass is fabulous," Dean asserted, throwing his thigh over Cas's legs to minimize his desperate writhing.

"It is terrible," Cas insisted. He freed his hands from the monster pile of covers, and grabbed Dean's wrists, removing them forcefully from his ribs as he panted. Dean allowed himself to go limp for a moment, before springing back to life. He pinned Cas's hands above his head with one of his own hands, and used the other to tauntingly ghost across Cas's skin. Cas squirmed, but Dean was at the advantage. He resituated his leg so that his hips were locked in place. Leaving the only way for Cas to struggle in his shoulders.

"Ha ha ha, I win," Dean said, sticking out his tongue. Cas gave up the wiggling movements, and laid limply under him, muscles going slack. Dean was too busy gloating to notice Cas tense before he arched his body into Dean's, his knees, hips, and chest all pushing up at once. Dean instinctively attempted to steady himself with his hands against the memory foam, letting go of Cas's wrists.

"You are an imbecile," Cas muttered, grasping Dean's shoulders firmly, and before Dean could process what was going on, the fallen angel had reversed their positions, sitting on Dean's hips, smirking, expression full of unspoken boasting.

"Cas?" Dean asked after his little victory moment had extended way past its normal life.

"Shut up, Dean, I won," he said, stupidly happy for himself.

"Cas, why aren't you wearing anything?" Dean looked pointedly at Cas's bare torso and thighs.

"I am clad in my undergarments," he said after a moment.

"No, you're clad in my undergarments," Dean corrected him gleefully. "So you never answered me. Why are you next to naked?"

"Because your pajamas are dirty, and you are wearing mine, and I was very content to be hidden under my blankets-"

"They are both of our blankets, Cas-"

"-I didn't realize there was a dress code for our bedroom," Cas sassed. "So deal with it."

Our bedroom. Dean smiled.

"Oh, it definitely is not a problem," Dean purred, raking his eyes slowly up and down Cas's body, taking his own sweet time, making the fallen man frown and blush self-consciously.

"You're terrible," he mumbled quietly, for lack of anything else to focus on.

"Aww, look, you're blushing," Dean chided softly. He felt oddly detached from himself, as if he was present in his body but not fully in charge. Maybe if he teased Cas enough, he would go sulk in his conglomeration of blankets, letting Dean ignore the heat that was washing through him due to their...suggestive positions. He really, really didn't want to get turned on right now, because Cas hadn't expressed that he was ready for anything, and Dean was maybe panicking a little, afraid of freaking out or freaking Cas out and making things uncomfortable for both of them.

"Whatever, Dean, I still won," he said, low, gravelly voice not really helping the issue.

"That's adorable, your whole body's blushing," Dean continued. It was true, his chest and arms were flushed with embarrassment "Why are you embarrassed?"

"I am unused to such thorough scrutiny of my body, nor am I accustomed to feeling self-conscious." Cas readjusted his weight, and Dean conjured images of gruesome road kill in his mind, desperately trying to ignore the way his hips were begging to cant upwards into Cas.

"Don't," he said absentmindedly. "I love your body."

Cas looked at him sharply.

"Cas? You okay?"

"No," he said carefully after a while. "In fact, I am feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. I may need to rest."

"Wha- oof." Dean felt the air pressed from his lungs halfway through his inquiry. Cas had dove forcefully into him, throwing his entire body weight onto Dean all at once. He forced his arms under Dean's torso, clinging to him tightly. He wound his legs around Dean's waist, anchoring him to the bed.

"Mmm. Better," he said, closing his eyes and nuzzling his head into Dean's chest.

"Cas, what are you doing," Dean said, one of those statements that was worded like a question but really was not.

"Enjoying my awe-inspiring victory," Cas said, squeezing Dean with all four of his limbs. Dean tried to pry him off of his chest, pushing his hands on Cas's ribs, but he clung fast.

"Now who is terrible?" Dean grunted. "Also, you're going to get cold soon, 'cause you're an idiot."

"It's not my fault we have no clear, established rules regarding our clothing and any related boundaries." Cas hummed, inhaling deeply. Dean's heart briefly fell out of its natural rhythm as he realized how much he absolutely loved that fact, that they were so tangled up with each other's lives that they shared their clothes without second thought.

"Mmm."

"It's not my fault you spill things all the time. You just washed those pajamas, Dean," he scolded mildly.

"What?" Dean blinked at him.

"Your pajamas. I was going to wear them, even though they were discarded on the floor, because if they don't get washed, they still smell like you-" Cas tensed as he realized what he said.

"Aww, Cas," Dean said, genuinely warmed at Cas's deep-laid affection towards him. "That is adorable."

"Shut up," Cas glowered. "So I was going to wear them, but you got something all over them."

Dean couldn't think of a response as he realized what exactly he had gotten all over his pajamas. Thankfully, Cas was as oblivious as ever to something so fundamentally human male as jerking oneself off.

Cas eventually got tired of maintaining his iron grip of Dean, and as their breathing patterns began to synchronize, Cas sighed contentedly and slid off him, curling up to his side.

"You're hard," Dean blurted, suddenly very aware of the situation in Cas's- his-_ their_- boxers.

"Sorry," Cas mumbled, clearly not sorry at all. Dean absentmindedly grabbed the blankets and pulled them over top of him and Cas.

"You're not..." Dean sighed, curling his body into Cas's. "You're not freaking out?"

"Mmm, nope," Cas said, shifting himself to allow more pressing together of their bodies. "I do not seem to be 'freaking out'."

"Okay," Dean said, heart speeding up.

"You're the one freaking out," Cas remarked, tone light.

"I'm fine," he insisted, although the increasingly uncomfortable feeling of hot coals embedded in his chest insisted otherwise.

"It's okay," Cas said sleepily. He was always sleepy, Dean thought randomly.

"Cas, do you- do you want this?" Dean heard himself ask. He swallowed, nervous. Oh, how quickly the tides change. Wasn't he the one trying to calm Cas down in the face of sex? How the holy hell did it shift so quickly to become the other way around? Aargh.

"What?" Cas looked at him, blue eyes pretty as ever with dilated pupils. "Want what?"

"Me," Dean said, focusing on his breathing. They had held off this- sex- for so long that he was suddenly facing absurd anxiety over it. It was like the torturous climb to the top of the roller coaster, and he desperately wanted it to go well. No, he desperately wanted it to be amazing. Cas's first time. He squirmed, trying not to think of what might transpire should he mess up. Not to mention, it was his first time with another male, and that anxiety added all sorts of new worries to the plethora that was already there. What if neither of them was willing to be on the receiving end? What if Cas pretended he did, for Dean's sake, and ended up feeling terrible? The agonizingly long build-up only put more pressure on him.

"Of course I want you, Dean, I already assured you of that."

"I meant, do you want- uhhm. You're not freaking out, so I thought, shit. I don't know. We don't have to have sex right now or anything-"

"Dean," Cas said, trying to curtail Dean's babbling.

"I meant 'want me' as in...you know," Dean said, averting his eyes.

"You're asking if I feel ready to have sex?" Cas wondered. Why couldn't born English speakers ever just say what they meant?

"Um. I guess," Dean said, face heating.

Cas ran his hand over Dean's chest, sighing.

"No," he said after a while. "I can't do it without you wanting it too."

Dean stared at him.

"How did you- how did you know?"

"Because when we were kissing during the initial stages of our romantic involvement, you could barely contain yourself, but you held off for my benefit."

Dean sighed into Cas's bare shoulder. Why could anything be simple? Cas finally felt safe enough to let Dean- he finally had let down his walls, ready to trust Dean, to make himself vulnerable in the last remaining way.

And Dean was freezing up.

"And now, although you clearly are aware of my willingness, you become tense and start acting nervous. You've been cooling down lately, so to speak." Cas brought his hand to stroke his fingers calmly through Dean's hair. "Tell me what's wrong?" Cas looked at him, gaze full of affection, and concern, and...love, Dean realized.

"I'm nervous," he said, voice dangerously close to a whine.

"Dean, you know I'm not going to think any less of you," Cas said.

"I know," Dean said. "I just...it's new for me, and the more I thought about it, the more build-up that happened, I just started getting nervous, because it didn't just happen, it started turning into this whole damn event, and..."

"The more we waited, the more pressure you felt to get it right," Cas said.

"Yeah. And I didn't really realize how fucking nervous I was until, like, today."

Cas smiled, eyes darting across Dean's features. "It's really all right, Dean," he reassured him.

"Maybe we should just get really drunk and get it over with, and then the awkwardness will have left and we could just never get out of bed except for eating and showering," Dean rambled. Cas shook his head fondly.

"You are absolutely ridiculous, Dean," he said.

'You are absolutely ridiculous' isn't usually a particularly romantic statement, and it definitely isn't usually heard preceding a kiss, but they are not exactly normal, so screw it.

Dean placed his hand gently on Cas's cheek, and the fallen angel mirrored the gesture with his own arm. And then, eyes were closed and their lips were together, though neither man could remember moving closer to the other. Dean sighed, still not having had forgiven himself, and Cas rolled over, not really on top of Dean but not under him either. Dean shivered, surprising himself. Apparently he really liked Cas taking charge. He would have to make sure to explore that realm later, but for now, he just wanted Cas's warmth, the basic, complete comfort of skin-on-skin contact with someone he loved, relishing the fact that he was somehow not in immediate danger, and Cas was his, his to kiss and fall asleep with and share ice cream cones and talk about everything and nothing.

Cas wasn't very aggressive, when it came to taking the reigns. He was gentle, his ever-chapped lips not pushy or demanding, just...experiencing. Dean rested his hand on Cas's neck, loving the way Cas anchored him down, stopped him from thinking. This wasn't picking up some girl to get his mind off of things, this wasn't him trying to forget Sam's death for a while, as it had been with Lisa. This was Cas. This was Cas. It was still weird to think of.

The kisses did not heat up very much. There was no biting of necks or markings made with insistent tongues, just Cas taking it slow and both of them showing the other how much they cared about, and loved, one another.

After kissing for an acute infinity, Cas sighed contentedly and rested his head on Dean's chest. Dean wrapped his arms around him, one hand straying up to ruffle his hands through Cas's hair. He sighed. Cas, concerned, looked up to meet his green gaze.

"What are you thinking about?" Cas asked gingerly.

"Family," Dean said simply.

Cas blinked. That could mean a whole wide array of things. Dean could be thinking about the family he lost. Or, he could be longing for a family of his own. Cas sort of hoped he was thinking about Cas being family.

"Okay," he said after a minute or so.

"I just wish I could introduce you to my parents. My mom especially," Dean blurted. "She would love meeting you."

"I'll meet them one day," Cas observed sagely.

"I know, I just wish... I just wish I could do normal people things, like squirm when we're on the phone and she pesters me about grandchildren and dates and stuff, wish I could gloat when I finally got together with you. Wish I could be all nervous taking you to meet them. I don't know."

Cas smiled sadly. He didn't want to point out that, had his parents still been living, they never would have met. It was stupid and selfish, but he was torn between wishing Dean a normal life and letting him suffer but ultimately pull Cas from heaven and into his life.

"Let's go get dinner," Dean said suddenly. The haunted look in his eyes made Cas pretty sure that Dean was thinking similar things.

Cas nodded, trying to keep the guilt from his face.

"As long as it is not hamburgers," he joked glibly.

* * *

If the others noticed a strange heaviness in the air surrounding the resident happy couple, they had the tact to not acknowledge it.

* * *

**Okay where has the plot gone I cannot find it it is entirely Dean and Cas almost fucking but not quite here plotty plotty plot come here little plot it's nice and warm here you will surely perish on your own besides I have tuna fish**

**Point in hand that I did not mean to get these two so wrapped up in each other oops. I guess 't was inevitable because they practically already live in each other's pants if u no what i mean**

**srsly how do the spn writers even keep themselves from making Supernatural just episode after episode of Dean fucking Cas and Cas fucking Dean and also occasional Sam and some doomed love interest oh and maybe a vampire or two i don't fucking cuhhhhhr**


	50. A Morning Of Viscosity

**hey all you lovey folks. Sorry this took me a few days, I've recently been consumed by a fic idea and it's about thirteen thousand words or something so far and i've been really really into it**

**BUT THE HELLATUS IS COMING TO AND END PEEPS **

**ON A SIDE NOTE FIFTY CHAPTERS AND TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOLLOWERS AND OVER FOUR HUNDRED- ****_FOUR HUNDRED!- _****REVIEWS! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME THIS IS AMAZING YOU GUYS I LOOOOOVE YOU omg i never thought i'd get this much love from a fic asdfhjkl; and i'm so far into it asdfghjkl asdfghjkl asdfghjkl asdfghjkl qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm**

**asdfghjkl**

* * *

The next morning had a lazy air about it, redolent of a weekend day during one's childhood spent lazing in bed and doing nothing productive. Dean woke slowly, loving the sensation of his body being comfortably warm and cozy, while the room's temperature had a distinct bite to it. Though summer reigned outside, the bunker's inhabitants began to live sluggishly, rather like a reptile who has allowed itself to stay out of the sun so long that its body temperature makes it feel as though it's immersed in winter. Time moved at a slow viscosity, oozing day by day but passing all too quickly in retrospect.

Cas stirred, and Dean faintly acknowledged that _oh yeah, boyfriend._

"Dean," moaned the aforementioned boyfriend, in a decidedly effervescent manner that suggested that he was still asleep. Dean closed his eyes, enjoying the human furnace that had its octopus limbs wrapped around him. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself that he really, really loved snuggling with Cas.

_Well, I'd call it really gay, but..._

Cas's breath was hot against his neck, and it made his skin feel feverish. Cas was obviously in the middle of a dream, but it didn't sound like a nightmare. Nightmares were always punctured with screams and sobbing. Cas would yell frantic things, sometimes in other languages, but they always seemed to center on someone trying to kill Dean. The worst ones were when he would scream, '_No, God, no, please, don't make me kill Dean_', or other things. Those ones made Dean terrified for Cas, and it took ages to pull him out of them. They peppered his sleep almost every night, making them both fatigued the next day. It was one of the reasons they lounged around in bed so often, resting without sleeping. Cas would cling to the edges of his nightmares for far too long, and sometimes he lashed out at Dean. Once he slowly regained control of his mind, he would be terrified and withdrawn, leaving Dean to hold him close, rub his back and kiss his forehead, trying not to scream at the ceiling. Eventually, Cas would fall back asleep, and Dean would finally let himself cry. Sometimes he didn't get back to sleep at all those nights, he was too distressed, focusing on Cas's breathing.

It scared him how much he cared for Cas. This was- this was like the level of protection Dean used to display for Sam.

But now, Cas was just muttering nonsense, and it didn't sound like frightened nonsense. So Dean was content to let him dream.

"Dean," Cas moaned, and his body shifted closer into Dean. He sighed, and Dean tensed. Cas tightened his grip around Dean's chest, and rocked his hips into Dean's ass. He was rock hard already, and now that he was moving, Dean could feel it.

"Cas, get off a me," Dean grunted, shifting his torso away from Cas, but he just followed the hunter's body,

"Please, Dean, YES," Cas moaned. He rutted against him, and Dean felt like his skin was boiling. He tried once again to snap Cas out of it, but the attempt came to no avail.

Sighing, Dean tried not to let Cas's moans get to him, but he was already reacting, fast. He had to get out of bed, or make Cas wake up.

He gripped Cas's arms and rolled over, forcing Cas's body to roll on top of him. Then, he pushed up off of the mattress, throwing off Cas's center of balance (which was already quite inaccessible, because he was asleep). The fallen angel grumbled and flopped to the side, where he stirred a bit before lying still. Dean let his body relax as much as possible, but he was wide awake now, hormones and adrenaline coursing through him. He groaned, forcing himself not to entangle their bodies once again. He felt like crawling out of his skin, still guilty about not being ready once Cas was. At least Cas was still asleep.

"Dean?"

_Shit._

"Morning," Dean grunted, hoping perhaps maybe Cas's voice might get a little less raw and..._sexy_ before he responded.

"Um," Cas grunted. No such luck on the sex-voice front. "Was I...I mean, did I..."

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Sorry," Cas mumbled, voice dripping with guilt.

"No worries," Dean lied.

They laid awkwardly at their respective sides of the bed, backs facing each other.

"I didn't mean-"

"Let's just-" Dean and Cas spoke at the same time, freezing as they realized the other was talking.

"Go on," Dean said, as Cas opened his mouth to.

"What were you-"

Stalemate, again.

"You can't help your hormones," Dean said eventually. Cas sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Hell, Sam and I shared a bed quite longer than we should have, and there was this one time when I was thirteen and he was nine-"

"Dean, ew," Cas interrupted.

"I'm just sayin', I know what it's like to be newly-hormoned and sleep next to a warm body. There's no control."

"I really, really do not want to think about that image, Dean," Cas said, sounding seriously wigged out.

"Heh, I guess you weren't around when we stumbled into the Supernatural slash fans," Dean said. "The things they wrote- Cas, they wrote stories about Sammy and I doing things that were not exactly G-rated-"

"Dean," Cas admonished. "I know about your fans, and in their defense they do not know that you're real people."

"Brothers, though," Dean said. "They knew about the brother thing."

"Stop," Cas said, though he was laughing. "Please."

"Hey. You think that makes you uncomfortable?" Dean huffed out a 'you-ain't-seen-nothin'-yet' laugh. He rolled over to whisper creeper-style in Cas's ear.

"Imagine your brother, Cas, any of 'em, no- the grossest, weirdest one. The junk-less one. Uriel. Imagine reading about you and him-"

"Eeeuugh," Cas said.

"In bed together-"

"Dean!" Cas couldn't help but giggle at how silly Dean was being. He was really, really grossed out, but their gentle, easy back-and-forth lifted the awkwardness.

"I'm just saying, until you've experienced fangirls, you have not felt true awkward."

"I was accosted by the Ghost...something?"

"Ghostbusters?"

"No."

"Ghost Rider?"

"No..."

"Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come?"

"No, I think it was 'Facers' or something." Cas turned towards Dean, furrowing his brows in concentration. Dean's eyebrows shot up, and he started laughing so hard he was turning red.

"What?" Cas asked, feeling dumb.

"No, it's just-" Dean cut off, wheezing. "Those guys were..."

"...Inadequate?" Cas suggested.

"They're freakin' awful," Dean agreed once his laughter died down. "Like, they suck balls."

"I do not see the point of that," Cas said.

"Aw, no, Cas, it's an expression, when something sucks more than just 'sucks', you might say that it 'sucks balls'.

"I still have difficulties in regards to navigating your vernacular terms."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Cas squinted in concentration, trying to decipher Dean's words. Eventually he shook his head, deciding that it wasn't worth it, and butted his head against Dean's chest.

Dean sputtered and pretended to be caught off guard, thrusting his body back and clutching his chest in mock agony.

"I'm dead! I'm bleeeeeeeeeeding!" Dean whined.

"If you had amassed serious injury, it would have consisted of a cracked clavicle, but your skin would not be pierced because I am not a unicorn, so you would not be bleeding. Also, an injured collarbone would not cause death, excepting, of course, the occurence of gangrene or a punctured lung-"

"Cas, all right, I get it, I get it," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, you're worse than Sammy sometimes."

"I'm not Jesus, I'm Castiel."

"No, really? I thought I was sleeping with Christ. Aw, now I'm sad."

"Jesus wasn't celibate, you know," Cas disclosed.

"That's...nice? For him?"

"I suppose," Cas remarked blandly.

"Guess you could call it a holy fuck," Dean quipped, grinning.

"Shut up," Cas scolded. He elbowed Dean in the ribs, but he was smiling despite himself.

* * *

**so yeah still no smut...sorry **

**but i've been posting a lot of it on my AO3. i'm '2spooky4u' so yeah go check it out also I wrote this really weird Isaac Lahey thing for teen wolf which I am really in love with it's fuckin' awesome YEP I HAVE BECOME ONE OF ****_THEM_**


End file.
